


man, man, ghost

by catsinmars



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Catholic School, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Friends to Lovers, Horror, M/M, Reincarnation, to explain the death tag :-)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:36:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27973803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catsinmars/pseuds/catsinmars
Summary: “Maybe in another universe, in a parallel universe, in a universe where you exist and I exist and we’re together. We didn’t have to kill one another, there isn’t any blood, Wakatoshi-kun. It’s just you and I.”————Everything is orange and red, painting over everything and Kiyoomi looks down at his hand, illuminated blood red. The sound of footsteps catch his attention and he looks up to see Wakatoshi stand up, illuminated by the shadows and then the colors, standing directly in the spot where the sun hits the room and he’s a beautiful mess of orange and yellow and red, golden and sanguinary and Kiyoomi feels his breath catch in his throat.
Relationships: Sakusa Kiyoomi/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	man, man, ghost

**Author's Note:**

> loosely inspired from fatal frame (2014)! it's such a good horror movie that involves sapphics hehe :-) the overall plot and twist is different however, i hope it got executed well! enjoy <3

The school was located in the middle of the forest by the top of a hill, protected by the abundance of trees and leave-stained grounds. Surrounding a large quadrangle, the four, old buildings are newly painted with shiny and clean white paint, accompanying it with shiny purple markings, almost hiding the fact that it is standing atop a cemetery and has been going on for almost a hundred years.

With his luggage next to him, wrapped up in his autumnal uniform with a scarf around his neck, Sakusa Kiyoomi looks up at the tall buildings, maybe four to five stories, and wonders how this year is any better than the previous ones. The wind is chilly and rustling the leaves around him as he ignores the sounds of cars stopping and going, the crowd of families trying to assure their sons. 

_New ones_ , Kiyoomi thinks as an afterthought. This school can look scary to kids, with its desolate location and looming presence in the middle of the forest. Most times, when Kiyoomi is all alone, nowhere to go for the holiday break, everything feels too strong.

Speaking of being alone. He’d been all alone going to the school like he’d done the previous years. He wanted to come a week early, having nothing to do yet he knew the school wouldn’t let students in at such an early date. He knows. He tried it already. 

So, he painfully waited for another week, things already packed, and went on the train and went up the hill and walked by himself. With his parents long gone to another country and his sisters already at college, he was all alone. Besides, his parents just _had_ to insist he do everything alone. Through all these years, he doesn’t know if he should be thankful for it or not.

( _never. never thankful. always gone_.)

Kiyoomi watches everyone around him in slight disdain. There’s a boy, not younger than ten, already crying as his dad strictly talks to him. There are some familiar faces, familiar parents that always accompany their sons for their first day. His parents only accompanied him when he was in first grade and gave the school all reigns to him.

( _no use thinking of the past. you’d done enough of that in summer._ )

With a sigh and a slight adjustment of his mask on his face, he begins to walk inside the school. As soon as he does, however, a man wearing a cassock approaches him with a gentle smile. He instantly stops and waits for him to approach. “Sakusa Kiyoomi?”

“Good morning.” He bows down and thinks about his room number again.

“Brother Juro has to speak to you,” the man says and gestures to the staircase next to the entrance. “It is regarding your dorm room.”

Kiyoomi’s brows rise in surprise and before he could say anything, the man walks towards and up the staircase with his arms folded, looking stiff and tall. Kiyoomi looks at his luggage and then at the staircase before sighing in frustration.

 _I swear_ , he thinks angrily, eyes trained on the man’s back, body heavily lifting his luggage up the stairs. _They’re out to kill me. Can’t I at least take my stuff to my room?_

Finally, they reach the third floor, Kiyoomi softly sighing in relief, angling his body a little to relieve it of some tension. “This way, Sakusa-kun.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t have the energy to tell him that he _knows_ , he knows where the main office is, he’s been here since he was a child. Instead, he follows him, the wheels of his luggage echoing around the empty floor. Soon, it’ll be full of students, chattering and walking about to their classes.

As they walk, Kiyoomi looks outside the big, glass windows showcasing the quadrangle. Here, he can see the students walking around with their luggage before abandoning it, seeing their friends in a frenzy. Parents meet other parents and laugh and talk about their children as if they haven’t seen each other in summer school. If Kiyoomi arrived earlier than usual, he wouldn’t have to walk around encountering large crowds of sweaty, teenage boys. Eugh.

Kiyoomi stops walking when he notices a slight change in wallpaper and lighting. Through the years he’s been here, the walls and lighting are always different when nearing the offices. Towards the main office, the walls change from the cream color to an abrupt wooden brown and the lights are brighter. This school can be confusing to some, the modern and bright painting out front yet the inside has wooden floors that often creak, and the walls are a mix of concrete and wood. Even with the multiple paintings and lighting, everything still feels so closed off and breathing down on him. Although Kiyoomi has grown to get used to its peculiarity. Who is he to question design that’s been there for years?

They both stop walking and he watches in boredom as the man softly knocks against the large wooden doors. Instantly, he opens the doors and nods at Kiyoomi. “You may come in.”

Kiyoomi bows. “Thank you.”

“Ah,” Brother Juro is someone Kiyoomi is overly familiar with. Ever since he enrolled here, Brother Juro has been the principal ever since. He’d always wore his cassock, large, black-rimmed glasses sitting atop his nose, and a gentle smile always present on his face. As the years went by, he’d grown to be an apparent father figure to Kiyoomi. “Toshio-kun, thank you for bringing Sakusa in.”

“It’s no problem, Brother Juro.” Kiyoomi watches as Toshio bows before leaving the room, the sound of the doors closing heavy and loud.

“Good morning, Brother Juro.”

“Sakusa! Sit, sit,” Brother Juro gestures to the two seats in front of his desk as he proceeds to sit down on his own. Behind him are photographs of the other principals, photographs with him and the school staff, photographs of the previous batches. Decade upon decade of people Kiyoomi has met and haven’t met. A face catches his eye but before he can stare a little longer, he finds himself sitting down already and looking at Brother Juro’s smiling face. He pulls down his mask to give him a strained smile.

“How have you been, Brother Juro?” Kiyoomi asks nicely and Brother Juro smiles at him, adjusting his glasses.

“I’ve been well! How about you, Sakusa? How was your summer?”

Boring. Usual. Alone. “It went well, Brother,” he says simply and looks around. “Is something wrong? Am I in trouble?”

“Goodness!” Brother Juro blinks in surprise before he laughs out heartily, shaking his head. “No, no! Never! We’re just here to discuss your new dorm.”

“Oh. What happened?”

Brother Juro adjusts his glasses on his nose and clears his throat, opening a folder already situated on his desk. “Well,” he starts and squints. “Because of the new transferees for this year, you’ll have to move dorms. Freshmen, you know how it is, Sakusa-kun.”

Kiyoomi frowns yet nods still. “It’s all right with me. What’ll happen to Atsumu?”

Atsumu, being his roommate. Or previous roommate.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be rooming with Kita-kun.”

“The senior?”

“Yes, yes,” Brother Juro says airily. “Now, your new dorm is on Building 4, room 240B.”

With a short pause, Brother Juro lets out a sniffle before opening a drawer and handing him a set of keys. “Here you are, Sakusa-kun.”

Surprised, Kiyoomi stands up hastily and takes the keys from Brother Juro’s rough palms. They smell of Vicks and soil. “Thank you,” he mumbles and turns to his luggage. “May I go to my dorm?”

“Oh, of course!” Brother Juro smiles at him. “We’re glad to still have our brightest students here.”

Kiyoomi manages a grateful smile at him before bowing down. With a last glance at his desk, where a framed photograph faces away from him, he thinks of the face he saw earlier.

Kiyoomi turns around and leaves the stuffy office.

Kiyoomi has to walk to the building opposite the main one, corridor upon corridor as he looks out at the quadrangle. The number of students is doubling.

His dorm is at the deep end of the hall, a little secluded from the rest of the rooms and he wonders if this is a blessing or a curse. More of a blessing, actually, as he thinks about it, placing the key in. He wouldn’t have to endure knocks and punches on the rooms next to him or loud music from walkmans and radios (or iPods, Kiyoomi really isn’t sure) that were sneakily brought inside. He’s surprised, however, when he finds it unlocked.

He opens it quietly and looks around. The dorm is bright due to the wide window situated at the far left corner; the room itself is large, with two twin beds on each corner and two desks at the far ends, and an unusually large space in-between for whatever the student may want to do. Kiyoomi raises a brow and steps more inside, looking around with curious eyes.

He jumps in surprise, however, when he turns to his right and meets olive eyes and someone with a taller build. “Hello,” he says simply, standing by the desk, a book in hand. Oh. He’s quite handsome.

“Oh,” Kiyoomi hastily pulls down his mask and clears his throat. “Hello, I’m Sakusa Kiyoomi, your roommate. I didn’t know I would have one, still.”

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the other says instead and gently puts down his book. He walks closer and puts out a hand. “Are you new here?”

Kiyoomi stifles a snort and this causes Wakatoshi to raise a brow. “I’m sorry if that seemed rude,” he says sheepishly. “It’s just, I’m one of the oldest students here. I’ve never been to any other school.”

And then, “Oh, I’m a second year, by the way.”

Wakatoshi nods. “I’m a third year. This has always been my dorm.”

Kiyoomi quickly shakes his hand and ignores how firm the other’s hold is. He feels shy, for some reason, as if he’s intruding inside Wakatoshi’s room. “Nice to meet you, Ushijima-san.”

“Wakatoshi is fine,” he smiles at him, soft and inviting. “I’ve taken this bed already if you don’t mind.”

Kiyoomi turns to the left then, the desk painted with sunlight due to the window behind it, also lavishing the bed with its warmth, and he smiles. “I don’t mind. Thank you, Wakatoshi-kun.”

The first day of classes come and go. Kiyoomi sees familiar faces. He sees new faces. He meets familiar faces and takes notes, listening to the Brother’s drawl and talk about rules Kiyoomi’s been hearing for years.

When Kiyoomi finally steps foot onto the quadrangle, Motoya waves at him from afar.

“Sakusa!” he grins. Komori Motoya is his cousin, another loyalty of this school. For the first time in years, he’s in another class. “How’d the first day go?”

“It was fine,” he mutters, looking at the fallen leaves. “I have a new English teacher. Everyone loves her.”

Motoya snorts, pulling his bag higher up his shoulder. “The first sighting of a woman by teenage boys.”

Kiyoomi merely sighs in disappointment.

“So,” Motoya drawls out like the topic is something to be avoided. “I heard Brother made you move rooms?”

Kiyoomi turns to him in confusion. “Yes? Although, he didn’t exactly have to force me.”

Quiet answers him and he tilts his head at the other. “What? You’re acting like I told a crime.”

“I’m not,” Motoya shrugs, a teasing smile on his lips as they begin walking. “It’s what everyone is saying, though. Rumors are spreading that you and Atsumu fought. Do you know he was hospitalized this summer?”

“So, it’s _my_ fault he’s hospitalized?” That’s preposterous!

Motoya shrugs. But then, he turns to him with a wide grin. “Enough of that, though! How’s the dorm? People are saying that it’s _the_ haunted dorm!”

“Are you just going to tell me stupid rumors?”

Motoya frowns at him and they near the cafeteria. “It’s not! Besides, did you have a new roommate?”

Kiyoomi’s cheeks tingle a little at the question yet he brushes it off. Maybe it’s the sudden burst of teenage boy cologne hitting his nose. “I do.”

He takes a tray and looks at the array of food.

“That’s it?” Motoya insistently asks, moving around him like a crazed bird. “Ugh, you’re always like this, Sakusa! Do you know that it took me half a year to find out that Atsumu’s your roommate?”

“You’re just stupid.”

“No,” Motoya rolls his eyes and cuts to the line in front of him. Kiyoomi kicks his knees. “You’re just acting _mysterious_ and _cool_ when it’s just your roommate. C’mon, Sakusa! It’s the new year! It’s 2000, not the 90s!”

“Oh, don’t be stupid, what are you blubbering about?” Kiyoomi mutters. “He’s just some senior.”

“Really? Who? Is he cool? Is he a nerd? Do you like him?”

“Shut up, Komori.”

( _yes, a senior. ushijima wakatoshi. yes. no, but i hope he so. he’s cute. i don’t like him. i don’t. i don’t._ )

The days fly by and Kiyoomi doesn’t even notice it. He breezes through classes and homework and activities and in between it all, the growing friendship between them and Ushijima Wakatoshi. He doesn’t ask around about him, nor does he talk about him with anyone else, just like he used to do with his previous roommates. It used to annoy Motoya, but he guesses it’s just a matter of getting used to. Besides, since when was Kiyoomi so talkative regarding other people?

The thing was, he doesn’t see Wakatoshi much, be it outside or in their own dorm. Despite knowing that the other is a senior and has a different schedule, something inside Kiyoomi still wishes to at least see him, passing by through the quadrangle or even when they have their daily mass. He does see acquaintances, previous roommates, previous roommates’ roommates, and old childhood friends. But never Wakatoshi. He wonders if he’ll ever see him, even if it’s just through his room window, seeing him pass by.

The only time he sees him is when it’s after classes, tiredness seeping through his bones as his mind still reels from equations and English sentences.

“ _He thrusts his fists_ ,” Kiyoomi mutters to himself in English, eyes looking down at the ground as he walks to his dorm. “ _Against the posts and still…_ ”

He can’t say _insists_.

 _This is stupid_ , Kiyoomi frowns to himself, unlocking the door. _I’m Japanese! Why the hell should I learn about English?!_

He opens the door and is unsurprised to see it vacant. Wakatoshi is always out and about, always staying late after classes, and yet Kiyoomi can’t even see him even just a glance.

When he suddenly remembers about his essays, the thought of Wakatoshi drifts away to the back of his mind as he sits in front of his desk.

Only when the door creaks open does Kiyoomi look up from his handwriting and to the door, smiling at Wakatoshi.

“Welcome back,” he says and then scrunches his nose. “Oh, shit, you stink.”

Wakatoshi lets out a surprised chuckle and nods, quickly taking his towel near his desk. “I’m sorry, I took a long time in the labs.”

Kiyoomi sniffs and scrunches his nose, turning back around to his desk. Wakatoshi looks at him softly, tenderness shown in his eyes. “Lab? Did you guys dissect something?”

Wakatoshi stills before throwing his towel over his shoulder. Something passes through his face and he looks a bit far away. “I was,” he answers gruffly and turns to the door again. “If you don’t mind.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t. He turns back around just as Wakatoshi shuffles around a bit more before leaving again, the door closing shut behind him. Kiyoomi scrunches his nose again. He smelled so strong and familiar, yet Kiyoomi just can’t explain what it is.

( _soil. soil. leaves. trees. dried out blood. the lake. the lake. the lake. the lake. soil._ )

Impossibly enough, Kiyoomi sees Wakatoshi less and less as the days go by. As the rush of midterms and finals take up a storm, Wakatoshi spends more days in the labs, in the rooms, wherever, and Kiyoomi barely has the energy to say _welcome back_ when he’s already half asleep in bed. Always, he smells like a mix of soil and the lake and metal.

Only when he’s staying up late writing an essay does he see Wakatoshi again, awake and a little out of it. He stares at his essay for a moment, pencil marks and eraser shavings littered all over his desk before turning to face Wakatoshi. He could need some distraction.

“You’re back.”

Wakatoshi turns to him with a smile. “I’m back. You aren’t sleeping yet?”

Kiyoomi frowns. “I still have an essay to finish.”

Wakatoshi makes a noise of disdain. “Ah, essays. I always seem to fail with those.”

Kiyoomi plays with the ends of his chair for a moment and watches as Wakatoshi tidies up his desk. “Wakatoshi-kun,” he starts, and the other hums in response. “I don’t see you often.”

“What?”

“Like,” Kiyoomi’s cheeks heat up a little and he plays with the ends of his sweater instead. “I don’t see you around the school that much, and in mass, too.”

Wakatoshi is quiet before turning to him, leaning against his desk. He’s accented by the yellow lights on their dorm and he’s smiling, gentle yet teasing. “Were you looking for me?”

Kiyoomi’s eyes widen in surprise and he quickly shakes his head. “No!” he brings a hand up to his mouth, the soft wool of his sweater scratching lightly at his chin. “It’s just… you’re always staying late in classes and stuff but I don’t see you anywhere.”

( _i’m always looking for you. out of every teenage boy in here, i try to look for you. you, for some reason, are so hard to find._ )

Wakatoshi looks at him, quiet and intense as he lets a smile rest on his lips. “I’m sorry, then,” he says instead and pushes himself off his desk. “I’ll let you look for me, I won’t make it hard for you.”

Kiyoomi’s hand softly falls and rests against his lap and he looks at Wakatoshi in surprise. “All right, Wakatoshi-kun,” he almost whispers, throat scratchy around his name. “I’ll look for you.”

“You look like some poet who lost all meaning and motivation in writing because you didn’t get to sell a copy of your poetry book about heartbreak. You know, like Kafka. Or those painters. You know.”

Kiyoomi glares at Motoya, clutching at his textbooks as they walk towards the middle of the quadrangle. “What are you _talking_ about? What is that even supposed to mean?” He can’t even start on how wrong his entire analogy was.

Kiyoomi looks around the large crowd of boys, bustling and talking with one another, the occasional shouts and laughter echoing. He’s looking for someone.

Motoya shrugs. “I don’t know, what do _you_ think you look like?”

“I look like nothing.”

“Hm. I don’t think so. You look like you’re looking for someone now.”

Kiyoomi hopes that Motoya doesn’t notice the way he freezes for a moment before walking again, eyes now carefully looking around. Motoya, however, crushes his dreams. “You _are_ looking for someone! Who? Who is it? Sakusa!”

“Keep quiet,” Kiyoomi glares at his bright face. “It’s no one.”

“No one is someone to you.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Who’s the poet now?”

“Who are you looking for?” Motoya’s whining is beginning to attract attention around them as they walk around and Kiyoomi glares at the other, leaning close to him.

“Just my roommate, okay? His name is Ushijima.”

Motoya’s eyes light up. “Ushijima? He’s familiar!”

Kiyoomi’s cheeks heat up and he shakes his head at him. “Happy? Can you shut up, now?”

Motoya hums. “I’ll find out who he is, watch me!”

For once, Kiyoomi wishes that Motoya doesn’t embarrass him like last time: asking around insistently on who his roommate is.

Kiyoomi sees him. Right outside the church, looking at the wide doors like he’s in pain just from looking at it. The leaves crunch and crumble beneath every student as they all wait outside. The church was a bit far from the school itself, maybe a five-minute walk, and near to the lake. It was beautiful yet still ruined. Decaying paint right outside yet the plants are fresh and taken care of. Again, Kiyoomi has long forgotten to wonder about its peculiarities.

Kiyoomi waits for Wakatoshi to look at him and when he does, he sees how Wakatoshi’s eyes widen before his face brightens. Even when surrounded by people and almost invisible, Kiyoomi smiles and gingerly lifts his hand up to wave at him. Wakatoshi nods at him and continues to stare at him, making Kiyoomi wonder if there’s anything on his face.

Everyone suddenly starts walking inside the church and Kiyoomi watches in surprise as Wakatoshi gets eaten up by the bodies and silhouettes of the other students, now long gone. When he turns back around to look at the church and the soft playing of the organ, he locks eyes with Brother Juro.

It’s almost like a game now.

Kiyoomi tries to find Wakatoshi everywhere, in every corner of the school, in the forest, maybe by the lake. And always, he feels the presence of eyes watching him, but when he turns to it, there’s no one there.

Kiyoomi won’t admit it, but he loves this game he plays with Wakatoshi.

He loves looking for him, trying to find Wakatoshi amidst the crowd of boys, trying to find his familiar build, his eyes that make Kiyoomi’s cheeks heat up.

He loves looking for him, even when he gets in trouble by doing so.

It’s new to him; this thrill and rush of trying to look for Wakatoshi and in the process of doing so, unthinkingly leaving his class behind just to follow his familiar build, only to lose him again and to get caught by Toshio. At first, Toshio had let him off the hook, but when he caught him for the third time, he grabbed hold of Kiyoomi’s wrist and dragged him towards the main office.

“This is the third time I’ve caught him, Brother Juro,” he confesses and Kiyoomi stands next to him, ashamed and red. “Third time skipping classes yet won’t say a word why.”

“I see.” Brother Juro’s voice is calm yet there’s a tightness that crawls all over Kiyoomi. “You may leave us, Toshio-kun.”

Toshio leaves in silence, bowing respectfully and giving Kiyoomi a heated glare. The sound of the doors closing echoes and almost makes Kiyoomi flinch.

“Third time,” Brother Juro lets out a humorless chuckle, opening a drawer. “What’s the meaning of that, Sakusa?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking down, fingers pressing against each other. “I don’t have any excuses.”

“I see.” Brother Juro says. “Sakusa, you know how important you are to me. But when a student disobeys, I cannot do favorites, unlike Toshio-kun.”

Kiyoomi bites harshly at his lip and nods, looking up at him with glossy eyes. “I’m sorry, Brother Juro.”

He eyes the metal ruler on Brother Juro’s hands and hesitantly, shakingly, brings out his palms. The first hit stings and he sucks in a sharp breath, curling his fingers against his palm, and Brother Juro slams down the ruler against his knuckles, making him gasp.

“Open them up, Sakusa,” Brother Juro says, hovering the ruler above his hands. “This is hurting me more than it’s hurting you.”

By the twelfth hit, Kiyoomi’s palms are bright red and bleeding, blood dripping off of the ruler and his lips shake, trying to control his breathing and the tears pricking in his eyes. Brother Juro stops, letting the ruler fall to the desk with a deep sigh.

“You’re dismissed,” he says gravely, and Kiyoomi sniffles, unable to look at him. He can’t move his hands. “Make sure this won’t happen again.”

It doesn’t happen again. Kiyoomi learns how to skip without getting caught, eyes alarmed and looking everywhere. By the time he skipped for the third time unnoticed, his palms have healed a little, the red scars slowly disappearing yet the pain lingering, like an itch that won’t get away, no matter where or how you try to remove it.

* * *

kiyoomi wakes up to whispers and murmurs.

“did you hear?”

“what, what?”

“the gardener died.”

“ _what?_ what happened?”

“i don’t know. but they say a senior found his body. in the _lake_.”

“no way.”

“i know! and get this, he had no blood.”

“what do you mean?”

“like _no blood_. he was drained! vampire drained!”

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not! they say that the senior is in the clinic right now, he keeps screaming and crying.”

“is that true? did the gardener really die?”

“yeah! i was just telling this guy! get this, get this, he was found drowned and drained of blood _and_ his body was rotting there for days! i bet —”

“i’m not believing you!”

“no, it’s true! let’s go to the clinic! the senior is probably still there, that wimp.”

kiyoomi and the other students attend daily early morning mass. today, however, everyone is quiet and murmuring amongst each other. he feels out of it, his skin crawling as he looks around. when he woke up, wakatoshi had just woken up, too, eyes and face blank yet slowly contorting to confusion as they heard the loudening murmurs and patter of feet against wood. they both shuffle towards the door to open it, surprised to see everyone huddled together as they frantically look around and whisper quickly to each other.

now, as kiyoomi sits tightly with his class, elbows brushing against each other, eyes trained at the altar where brother juro is speaking, he wonders where wakatoshi’s class is. where he is. if he’s here.

“let us all pray for kentaro-san’s soul and may the people who have done that sin be cleansed.”

 _drowned. at the lake. drained off of his blood. drowned. drowned. drowned. drowned_.

kiyoomi looks over his shoulder as brother juro talks about the garden and its beauty, how kentaro-san had been so happy in working hard for it. he’s looking for wakatoshi amidst the sullen teenage boys. he looks over the paintings and windows before settling his stare by the large doors. he startles when he locks eyes with wakatoshi.

his gaze was so intense yet he quickly looks away from kiyoomi and in the direction of the altar. when kiyoomi finally turns back to the altar, brother juro is looking at him.

* * *

_who are you looking for?_

Today, he’s in the middle of the quadrangle, on the way to the garden with his class. They were gonna try and uproot some plants. When he turns around, he thinks he sees Wakatoshi, back turned to him and he feels his breath hitch. He looks back at his class and doesn’t think when he almost runs to Wakatoshi.

( _just to say hi. why won’t he say hi to me instead? does he like this game of cat-and-mouse?_ )

( _that’s him. i know his back. that’s the back of his head. those are his shoulders. i know him. i know you._ )

Kiyoomi breezes through the students, trying not to bump into others. He watches as Wakatoshi starts to walk away and he walks even faster. “Wakatoshi,” he calls out and feels like he’s being washed out by the other noises. He curses. Why does he have to see Wakatoshi when there are too many people?

Wakatoshi starts walking inside Building 1, head turned to the side yet not noticing Kiyoomi. Kiyoomi looks at the guy next to him and takes note of his poofed up brown hair and a wide smile. He looks so bright next to Wakatoshi. When they near the entrance, Kiyoomi feels himself speed up.

“Wakatoshi!” Kiyoomi shouts and grins when Wakatoshi pauses and begins to turn around when black blocks him and Kiyoomi freezes in surprise.

“Sakusa!” Brother Juro says in surprise. His hands are up as if to hold Kiyoomi by his shoulders. “Where are you going? Isn’t that your class there?”

“Brother Juro,” Kiyoomi says, out of breath. Even through his short stature, Kiyoomi can’t see past Brother Juro’s shoulder due to the number of students behind him. He can see Wakatoshi trying to look for the one who called him. “Yes—uh, I’m just—looking for —”

“No time for that,” Brother Juro frowns at him and Kiyoomi freezes, feeling bad. “C’mon now, you all are going to the garden, yes? I’m coming with.”

“Oh, but —” Kiyoomi tries to turn his head around as Brother Juro places his hands on his shoulders and turns him around. He can see Wakatoshi still looking and then, feeling his heart stop a little, they lock eyes. Kiyoomi lets out a soft gasp as he tries to turn his head again.

“Come on, now,” Brother Juro chastises at him. “The garden is beautiful! You have to enjoy gardening, Sakusa.”

“Oh, I do! It’s just—I have to —” Kiyoomi lets himself be pushed as Wakatoshi continues to look at him, a dark look over his face. Kiyoomi stills as he looks at Wakatoshi’s face. Did he do something wrong? Kiyoomi continues to stare at him as Brother Juro pushes him harshly.

“Come on, Sakusa.” _I don’t want a repeat of last time._

( _why did he look like that?_ )

Kiyoomi is distracted throughout the gardening session. He can still see Wakatoshi’s stare at the back of his eyelids. As he tries to uproot the plants with his trembling and unusually stinging palms, he thinks of Wakatoshi and his stare from earlier. He can feel himself sweat, not from his work, but from the memory of Wakatoshi’s intense stare. As his hand trembles in holding the shears, he lets out a small hiss at the way his palms burn. Even with his bandaids and gloves, the shears press on a bit too harshly against his wounds that should have healed a week ago.

Someone kneels beside him and he turns in surprise. Atsumu’s smiling at him.

“Omi-kun,” he whispers to him mysteriously. “Come, come!”

Atsumu wraps his glove-wrapped hand around his elbow and Kiyoomi frowns, feeling the dirt on the glove rub against him. “Ugh, don’t touch me with that.”

“Sh, sh!” Atsumu drags him onto the entrance of the path, looking behind him. There, he sees his twin brother, Osamu, who’s in the same class as Motoya. He must’ve skipped class to be here. “‘Samu!”

“Sakusa-kun.” Osamu grins at him.

Kiyoomi looks at Osamu and then at Atsumu. “What’s this about?”

“Come with us!” Atsumu grins at him, eyes bright. “We’re gonna skip class! C’mon! We can go to town!”

There’s a part of Kiyoomi that wants to say yes, maybe he’ll see Wakatoshi when they pass through but still, he looks at the twins in disdain. “And spend a day with you two? No thanks.”

Atsumu pouts at him, tugging at his elbow. “ _Please_! And it’s not just us! Kita-san is coming with us! And Komori-san, too!”

“No,” Kiyoomi says immediately. “There’s too many of you. We’re gonna get caught.”

Atsumu frowns at him, even glaring at him. “Mean, Omi-kun! You need to have fun!”

“I can have fun,” Kiyoomi frowns at him before checking behind him. “I’m not going. You’re just gonna get caught.”

“Omi-kun, killjoy!”

“Not a killjoy. I’d go if we weren’t a lot.”

“Oh,” Osamu starts, a teasing smile on his lips. “What a responsible student.”

Kiyoomi smiles at him before turning to Atsumu. “See? He understands.”

Atsumu pouts and finally lets go of him. Kiyoomi looks at his elbow and brushes off the dirt, frowning at the way some of it sticks on his skin. “Ugh, fine! Let’s go, ‘samu! This garden fucking stinks. Good luck with the stench, Omi-kun!”

Kiyoomi frowns as watches them shuffle together, close yet still bickering with each other. He wonders if they’ll get caught. He watches as their silhouettes get smaller and smaller as the forest swallows them. He wonders if… 

( _stupid thought. stupid. stupid._ )

Kiyoomi turns back to the garden. No one’s even doing anything! He doesn’t even know where the teachers are, probably in some garden house, drinking tea and laughing.

 _No_ , Kiyoomi firmly tells himself, walking back the plants he was uprooting. _You’re gonna finish this. You’re almost done. Don’t do it_.

Kiyoomi continues uprooting the plants yet there’s a tingling sensation on the back of his neck. He looks around again. Everyone is focused on their own section of plants. No sign of teachers or brothers anywhere. He looks back at his plants. And then around him again.

Kiyoomi counts to ten.

And then, he stands up and casually walks out the entrance of the garden, heart beating loudly against his ears as he walks deeper and deeper into the forest, away from his class. He doesn’t go in the direction of the town, nor to the school. He takes off his gloves and stuffs them inside his pocket as he continues to walk around, his heart still beating loudly against his ears.

“I just skipped class,” he whispers to himself, realizing that his entire face is heating up. He looks around and lets out a small laugh, letting the wind embrace him. Anywhere he looks, endless bodies of trees. “I think I’m going to faint.”

“Kiyoomi?”

Kiyoomi gasps loudly and whirls around, expecting to see someone from his class. His heart abruptly starts beating faster as he looks at Wakatoshi.

“Wakatoshi-kun!” he says in surprise. “You’re —”

“Did you skip class?”

Kiyoomi startles and slowly nods. “I did. Did you?”

Wakatoshi stares at him and like a flower blooming, he smiles, soft and small. “I am. I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

“I didn’t know you’d be the type to skip.”

Wakatoshi shrugs and begins walking towards him, the leaves crunching underneath him echoing around the forest. “I just felt like it.”

Kiyoomi’s heart slows its beating and he follows Wakatoshi. It’s too quiet now, even the leaves underneath them have gone silent and weary. The wind howls a gentle song that makes Kiyoomi’s cheeks cold and he quickly throws out his gloves onto the ground. He’ll pick it up later. He catches up to Wakatoshi and realizes that they’re on their way to the lake.

“The lake?” he asks out loud. He spares a glance at Wakatoshi’s side profile and looks away quickly. “Are you gonna swim?”

Wakatoshi lets out a scoff. “No, I just like going to the lake.”

Kiyoomi rattles his mind for something before blurting out, “That’s where Kentaro-san was discovered, right?”

Wakatoshi turns to him sharply. “Are you scared?”

“Me? Scared? No!” Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and even walks faster than him. He ignores the fast beating of his heart and even looks back at him with a fierce gaze. “C’mon!”

Wakatoshi only looks at him with a laugh and a shake of his head.

_is this what it means to not get too close?_

They get to the lake, soft laughter tumbling out their lips as they playfully push each other, taunts and teasing of being scared echoing behind them. Wakatoshi pushes Kiyoomi and the other finds himself slipping off the ground and his eyes widen before arms wrap around his waist and his arms flail before finding themselves on steady shoulders.

He looks up in surprise at Wakatoshi’s shocked face. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I pushed you too much.”

“It’s okay,” Kiyoomi squeaks. _He’s so strong_.

The wind screams around them and Kiyoomi’s eyes widen as he looks at the right. “Oh! The lake.”

He stands up abruptly, Wakatoshi’s arms still around his waist and he smiles at him, patting his shoulder. “You’re good, big guy.”

Wakatoshi looks at him with something akin to softness and tenderness before letting him go. Kiyoomi almost runs towards the lake and takes in a deep breath, opening his arms as if to embrace its presence. The sound of running water and howling winds envelope him in a cold hug as he closes his eyes. He pays no attention to the shuffling and breathing beside him and he opens his eyes to smile at Wakatoshi, standing beside him and looking at the lake with a dark look on his eyes.

He quickly pokes him at the arm. “What’s got you all dark and broody?”

“Nothing. Isn’t it alarming how someone died here?”

Kiyoomi hums and looks at the lake, walking a little closer, just before the water meets his shoes. “Hm. Not really. The body’s already gone, isn’t it?”

He smiles when Wakatoshi lets out a sudden laugh at that. He didn’t expect the other to say that.

Kiyoomi lets out a soft sigh as the wind picks up speed and he lets out a laugh, dirt flying into his eyes and he rubs at them. “Ah, there’s something in my eye.”

A hand covers his jaw and Kiyoomi opens his eyes to see Wakatoshi’s face so close to him. His hand stills by the side of his face and Wakatoshi hums. “Your eyes seem all right,” he says closely, nose almost brushing against his. His hand is warm against Kiyoomi’s cheeks, rivaling against the cold he was feeling earlier. Kiyoomi lets out a small laugh and leans in, kissing Wakatoshi on the lips quickly.

“Thank you,” he teases and sits down on the ground, looking at the water. He looks up to see Wakatoshi looking at him with wide eyes. His ears are bright red as his cheeks slowly color in blush. He pats on the ground next to him with a big smile. “Sit, Wakatoshi-kun.”

_please try to save me_.

“I saw you earlier,” Kiyoomi says, eyes far away. No one knows how long they’ve been sitting there, mindlessly talking about their—well, Kiyoomi’s—family and the students in their class. Time can either be going so fast or so slow. “I was calling you. You saw me, didn’t you?”

“I did.” Wakatoshi’s playing with grass he pulled off the ground. “I was about to come to you.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Kiyoomi murmurs, feeling bad. “I wanted to come to you, too, but Brother Juro interrupted me.”

“I saw it, too.”

Kiyoomi notices the deep turn of his voice and he turns to Wakatoshi, surprised to see him so angry. “What’s wrong? Do you not like Brother Juro?” _Not the first one, but certainly the first I’ll be surprised to find out._

“He’s… all right,” Wakatoshi says instead and proceeds to say nothing else. Kiyoomi hums and turns to the lake again.

Kiyoomi feels that that might have been the end of the conversation and he hums a little. “I think I should get back,” he mutters. “I don’t wanna be called into the office.”

“Oh,” Wakatoshi turns to him and then to his palms. He eyes the bandaids that Kiyoomi still puts on, afraid that the healed wounds will suddenly open up and bleed all over him. “Did he do that to you?”

Kiyoomi looks down at his hands and unconsciously intertwines them, his palms barely brushing against each other yet he shudders. “Yes,” he mumbles, “it’s all right. I was disobeying.”

“May I?”

Kiyoomi startles and looks at him. “My hands?” _You want to touch them?_

“If you don’t mind,” Wakatoshi turns to him completely, uncaring of the grass beneath him. “I won’t hurt you, I just want to see.”

“I never think you’ll hurt me,” Kiyoomi mumbles and extends his hands towards Wakatoshi. His hands hover and shake until Wakatoshi gently wraps his hands around his, a thumb gently grazing the bandaids.

“I’m sorry he did this to you,” the other whispers. “You have such beautiful hands and yet.”

Wakatoshi lets one hand hover above his palms and his fingers gently touch his palms, yet not pressing down. The whisper of his touch makes Kiyoomi shiver and he watches as Wakatoshi continues to do so.

“It’s all right,” there’s a lump inside his throat and Kiyoomi feels lightheaded yet hyper-aware of everything. “I deserved it.”

“No, you don’t,” is Wakatoshi’s quick reply and he looks at Kiyoomi with hooded eyes. “You know that, right?”

Kiyoomi’s throat is dry and he’s unable to answer, fingers twitching, trying to curl back around his palm. Wakatoshi gently grazes his palms again and whispers, “You should go back, Kiyoomi.”

Kiyoomi nods softly, blinking rapidly and taking back his hands like he was just burned. “I will.”

“All right,” Wakatoshi says simply and leans back, nonchalant. “You do know how to get back, right?”

“Of course, I do,” Kiyoomi scoffs before the question dawns on his mind. “Are you not going back?”

“Soon,” is the only reply he gets.

Kiyoomi frowns and stands up. His palms tingle and ache as he tries to brush the dirt off his uniform. “Are you sure? Wouldn’t you get into trouble?”

Wakatoshi smiles, as if he just said a joke. “Don’t worry, Kiyoomi, I’ll be fine.”

Kiyoomi ignores the flutter in his chest at the way his name fits around Wakatoshi’s mouth. Instead, he continues to brush off the dirt from his uniform and nods. “Okay,” he says quietly. “I’ll look for you then.”

He walks away before Wakatoshi can reply and bites his lip in hesitation. He could hear shuffling from behind him and he ignores it. When he’s far away from the lake yet still able to see it, he picks up his gloves from the ground and finally turns around to see Wakatoshi standing up, looking at the lake. He’s bouncing a rock in his palm before throwing it rather harshly.

Kiyoomi looks at him for a moment, illuminated by the dark trees and bright sunlight as he looks at the lake in agony. He looks so tall and broad yet there’s something so dark and different about him. Kiyoomi wonders if he’ll ever tell him anything. The wind picks up again and Kiyoomi squints his eyes against it. He sees Wakatoshi start to turn and he blinks and suddenly—

He sees figures on the lake. All wearing uniforms yet all bloody and muddy as they stare at Kiyoomi. He feels frozen as they all stand there, blood dripping on the lake and the _plinks_ echoing against his ears. He can feel hands around his neck and he blinks with a sharp gasp, hands coming up to his neck as if to protect it.

Wakatoshi’s about to turn around and Kiyoomi runs.

He runs back to the garden, teary-eyed and hands shaking.

When he returns, Brother angrily asks him where he’s been and where his other glove is.

Kiyoomi can still see their bodies. He can still feel their stares.

  
  


_save me_

  
  


“I’m disappointed in you, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi’s cheeks burn as he forces himself to look down at the ground. Between his legs, his hands clutch at the plush seat of Brother Juro’s office. His wounds were healing and yet, as Kiyoomi grips at the seat, he feels them open up, welcoming in new pain. He feels restless as Brother Juro stands behind his desk.

“Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi reluctantly looks up and flinches at Brother Juro’s stare. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, holding onto the chair tighter. He can feel the heat of his cheeks from his upturned shoulders. His throat tightens as he rasps out, “It won’t happen again, I prom —”

“It won’t happen again? Of course, it won’t happen again! After what happened on that godforsaken lake? Have you lost your mind? First, you disobey and yet you _still_ disobey after being disciplined? What’s going on with you, Sakusa?” Brother Juro’s voice booms around the office and with each sentence that grows louder and harsher, Kiyoomi flinches sharply, hunching his shoulders to make himself smaller. He bites his lip and tries to ignore the fact how so many students can hear them.

He can hear how loud and heavy his breathing is as Brother Juro continues, hands slamming down the desk. He can feel his eyes burn as the growing sense of disappointment and hatred for himself burns and burns. Brother Juro had always worn a smile on his face and was always soft-spoken. His tantrum-like anger echoes around Kiyoomi.

“You disappoint me, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi bites his lip to stop the whimper from coming out and he only makes himself smaller. Questions burn at the tip of his tongue and he bites it to stop himself. The sound of a hand hitting the desk echoes against and he flinches, making himself impossibly smaller.

_Why are you so angry?_

_Why are you angry only at me? Why am I the only one here?_

_Why are you acting like that?_

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi only whispers again, fingers tightening and tightening as Brother Juro lets out a sigh of frustration. He feels shame and dread consume every vein and bone in his body. Even though he is surprised at what he’s done, there isn’t any regret when he remembers Wakatoshi’s smiles and voice.

“This is the problem, Sakusa,” he says gruffly. “I know you’re not sorry. You’re rebelling now, aren’t you? You’re disappointing me. Do you know how this affects me, Sakusa? Is this how you’d want the Lord to see you as? You’re one of His sons! You’re one of my greatest students!”

Kiyoomi shrinks. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re not sorry.” Brother Juro repeats roughly and a hand slams down the desk. Kiyoomi’s knuckles are white from the intensity of his hold onto the chair. “You’re just saying ‘sorry’ because you got caught, is that it? For the second time, too! Tell me, how many times have you done this behind our backs? Are you _really_ sorry?” and then, “Have you been praying, Sakusa? I see you in mass. You aren’t paying attention.”

“I do,” Kiyoomi whispers. “I listen and I’m sorry.”

“So, now you’re contradicting me?”

Kiyoomi bites his lip and shakes his head in shame. He wants to go out. He wants to leave. He wants to be back with Wakatoshi. He wants to be with Wakatoshi. He wants to leave. He wants to be at the lake. 

“I’m sorry,” he says louder and finally looks up, blinking away his tears. Here, Brother Juro is tall, so tall, that he looks down at Kiyoomi in anger and disappointment. “I already said it so many times. I’m really sorry, Brother Juro.”

Brother Juro purses his lips and narrows his eyes at him. He stays silent and Kiyoomi uses this to speak up again. 

“I won’t do it again,” Kiyoomi lies, the harsh yet plush seat digging into his nails. “I’m really sorry. You’re just throwing it all on me.”

This stops Brother Juro and his face grows red in anger as he booms out, “Throwing? Sakusa, are you _hearing_ yourself? Have you gone mad? Have you truly turned your back against the Lord? Are you rebelling? When have you last read the Bible?”

Kiyoomi frowns and sits up a little straighter. “I’m not! I only skipped yet you’re accusing me of things I didn’t do! I already said I was sorry!”

“Do you think I don’t know what you’re up to?”

Kiyoomi looks at him in shock. “I’m not up to anything! I just skipped! And I promise I won’t do it again!”

Brother Juro sits on his chair suddenly in exhaustion and places a palm over his face. “You’re dismissed.”

“What?”

Kiyoomi startles and hears his heart run and echo against his ears. His entire face is warm and numb.

“Leave my office,” Brother Juro looks at him with such anger and disappointment. “I can’t bear to look at you. You’re excused from all of your classes so you have time to reflect on what you’ve done and said. Pray the rosary, Sakusa. I see what disobeying the Lord has done to you.”

Kiyoomi stays frozen in his chair. His nails dig deeper and deeper until Brother Juro slams his hand against the desk again. Kiyoomi’s cheeks burn as he jumps harshly, as if expecting him to hit him.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Brother Juro says darkly, uncharacteristically himself that Kiyoomi wonders if he’s looking at the same person. “Leave my office, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi stays by the quadrangle, already excused from his classes. He sits underneath the tree shades, sitting on one of the concrete benches that haven’t been cleaned for so long. He doesn’t have it in him to care. A hand around his wrist tightly, nails digging into the skin as he stares out. He thinks he sees Wakatoshi beside the boy from earlier again. He doesn’t have the energy in him to call out to him again. He feels too drained after everything that happened with Brother Juro.

Someone sits next to him and he turns languishingly. Motoya looks at him with worry in his eyes. “You okay?” he whispers. “I was outside the office, you know.”

Kiyoomi lets out an empty chuckle. “I’m not surprised if the whole school heard me.”

“I’m really sorry,” Motoya whispers, regret and sorrow lacing his words. “I just don’t get it. Why did he only reprimand you?”

Kiyoomi shrugs and instead says, “That’s my roommate.”

“What?”

Kiyoomi nods in the direction where Wakatoshi is. “There he is.”

“Ushijima?” Motoya follows his gaze. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi whispers. His nails dig deeper into his skin until he’s sure he’s drawing blood. “Yeah. That’s him.”

“He’s really tall.”

“Yeah.”

“Is he nice to you?”

Kiyoomi turns to Motoya in confusion before letting out a rough laugh. “Of course, he is.”

“It would be nice to meet him.”

“Soon,” Kiyoomi mutters and looks down at his wrist. There’s blood underneath his pristine nails. He looks back at Wakatoshi and doesn’t even flinch when their gazes lock.

“Do you think he hates me?”

Motoya turns to him sharply. “Who? Brother Juro?”

Kiyoomi feels stupid. He bites the inside of his cheek and only digs his nails deeper. “Nothing. That was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Motoya leans closer and looks at him, sad and pitiful. Kiyoomi hates it. He feels like an idiot. “He practically _raised_ you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means a lot to _you_ ,” Motoya explains and looks out at the quadrangle again. “I’ve never heard him that angry before. I didn’t even know he was capable of shouting.”

 _Me too_ , Kiyoomi thinks. His nails dig deeper.

“Remember when those seniors pulled the fire alarm? He didn’t even shout at them!”

Kiyoomi takes a deep breath and nods. “Yeah. I know.”

“I’m really sorry,” Motoya says instead and looks at him. “I know how much he means to you. I mean, if my dad yelled and humiliated me like that, I’d probably jump on the lake.”

Kiyoomi snorts and finally lets go of his wrist. “Funny. I wonder what my dad would do.”

“Brother Juro?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“C’mon, Sakusa, everyone knows he’s more of your parents than your actual parents are. And everyone knows how important you are to him.”

Kiyoomi hears what Motoya couldn’t say. _You’re practically his son. He raised you as_ his _son. He_ sees _you as his son. Everyone knows the kind of relationship you two have._ What he said stings, _hurts_ a lot but for now, he can’t say anything but, “I guess.”

Motoya sighs and stands up, looking at Kiyoomi worriedly before saying, “Are you hungry? Let’s eat.”

* * *

_the smell of blood and soil and water envelopes him as his hands wrap around the neck of the other. the sound of choking and helpless plea’s echo around the empty forest as his eyes stare into his with no remorse whatsoever. nails claw at his arms yet his hands stay wrapped around the neck. he watches as the other’s face goes red and red, eyes rolling back as he tries to cry out for help._

_the smell of blood and soil and water._

_behind him, someone waits with a butcher knife in hand. there’s a large grin on his face just as he removes his hands away from the neck. they both watch as the victim flails around, nails clawing at his throat as he tries to breathe._

_“too bad,” he hears behind him as he walks closer. the knife is instantly at the victim’s neck and he slices lightly, blood pooling. the victim’s sight clears for a moment and he sees blood-stained uniforms and a predatory grin._

_“have you prayed to god lately?”_

* * *

Kiyoomi avoids everyone for the next couple of days. He can feel their stares. He can hear their whispers. He knows a lot and has heard what happened in that office, and probably scattered it everywhere for everyone to know. He keeps a rosary bracelet by his wrist, occasionally holding onto it, especially when he sees Brother Juro walk by. Its beads are the color of their school: shiny silvery-white in-between a cool purple, held together with a bright, gold chain, and a gold cross to bounce against his wrist as he walks. Brother Juro had given it to him the day he skipped class. He’d knocked on his dorm door, sorrowful and hands carrying a small, golden pouch where the bracelet lays. He’d put it on for Kiyoomi before leaving him, still so cold and angry.

Lately, he’s been spending more time at the church after classes, just to avoid everyone and everything. ( _mostly wakatoshi._ ) He stays there, doing essays and activities until darkness comes and he has no choice but to run back to the school. Sometimes, the quiet and stillness echoes around his ears, deafening him as his pencil shakes against the thin paper and he has no choice but to cower and shrink against the corner of the pews, fingers tightly holding onto the rosary bracelet.

It helps him, to be surrounded by stillness and quiet, that it makes him forget everything. He’s been waking up to a horrible dream, dark, loud, and horrifying—a complete opposite of the church. However, as soon as he wakes up, he forgets it slowly and slowly as his consciousness settles.

Today, everything is quieter. It’s Friday, the day where everyone retreats to their dorms or sneaks out to go to town. After the disaster that was finals week, he understands how half of the student body seems to have disappeared. He wonders how any of the guards never noticed.

His fingers play with the rosary beads as his feet crunch on the leaves beneath him. The wind is cold and piercing against his cheeks, yet hollow and empty. He presses the gold cross against his skin just to feel the coldness and when he nears the doors of the church, he pauses.

Wakatoshi is looking at him, standing next to the doors.

“So, this is where you’ve been going to,” Wakatoshi says once Kiyoomi is close enough. He’s leaning against the wooden doors and stands up straight to look at Kiyoomi. “Are you avoiding me?”

The cross presses against his wrist. “I’m not,” Kiyoomi mutters and walks past him inside the church. “Why would I avoid you?”

“You’re avoiding everyone.”

Kiyoomi rolls his eyes and walks until he reaches the first row of the pews, looking at the altar with distaste. He ignores Wakatoshi as he sits by the edge and drops his bag on the kneeler. Wakatoshi sits next to him and he faces forward to the altar, fingers nervously rolling the beads on his rosary.

“You have a pretty rosary,” Wakatoshi notes and Kiyoomi finally turns to him, unable to not look at him.

“Thank you,” Kiyoomi whispers, the stillness of the church suffocating him. “Brother Juro gave it to me.”

“I heard what happened.”

Kiyoomi bites his lip and turns to him completely. “What do you think?”

Wakatoshi turns to him and raises a brow. “What do _I_ think?”

“You know,” Kiyoomi shrugs. “The rumors about me. I know the whole school heard everything he told me.”

“I think he was exaggerating.” Wakatoshi moves closer to him and gently wraps his fingers around his and the rosary. Wakatoshi’s fingers are tanner and thicker than his, gently removing his fingers that were playing with the rosary’s cross. Kiyoomi watches with a deep inhale as he rolls the beads one by one, making sure his fingers don’t brush against Kiyoomi’s skin. “I’m sorry he only yelled at you.”

Wakatoshi’s fingers brush against his wrist and he shivers, hoping the other doesn’t notice. “It’s all right,” he whispers, moving his arm closer to him. “I kind of expected it.”

Wakatoshi looks up at him. He’s hunched over a little, focused on his rosary bracelet. “Expected it?”

Kiyoomi shrugs. “I don’t know. He practically raised me and I’m about to be a senior. It’s bound to happen.”

“That’s stupid,” Wakatoshi frowns and looks down at his rosary bracelet. “Shouldn’t a father not shout at his son?”

Kiyoomi scoffs, leaning against the handrest. “You think so?”

“Of course.”

Kiyoomi looks at the altar for a moment, stares at Jesus’ crucified body on the cross, and then back at Wakatoshi. His eyelashes are thick and pretty, fluttering against his cheeks as his fingers dance across his wrist before finding his palm. “Sometimes, I do stupid stuff,” he whispers, as if confessing. “Brother Juro is just like that. He wouldn’t do or say anything wrong. He’s just looking out for me.”

Wakatoshi’s cheeks push up in a rough laugh. “Hm. I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kiyoomi’s breath hitches as Wakatoshi continues to play with his palm and he slowly opens up his fingers as if saying, _yes, touch me here. It’s okay._ Wakatoshi does. His fingers find space in-between and his palms are cool and sweaty. “Nothing,” he looks up at him, suddenly so close and intimate. “I’m just saying stuff.”

Kiyoomi pouts. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

Wakatoshi shakes his head and moves even closer. He feels too warm; like there’s a fire burning inside of him, where Wakatoshi’s touch is soft yet firm.

“I could never make fun of you,” Wakatoshi murmurs, squeezing his hands and tilting his head a little, making Kiyoomi blink softly out of his thoughts. “Do I look like the type?”

“No,” Kiyoomi shakes his head and pulls their hands closer to him. “You’re not, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“Do you want me to make fun of you?” Wakatoshi asks then, a teasing edge to his voice. His lips quirk up into a smile and Kiyoomi’s eyes move from his dark gaze and onto his lips. “Do you want me to be mean?”

“No,” Kiyoomi sulks, looking down at their intertwined hands. “I want you to be nice to me.”

“Then I’ll be nice to you,” Wakatoshi smiles softly at him, squeezing his hands. “And on my agenda…”

Kiyoomi snorts out a laugh, pushing at his shoulder. “Agenda? Do you just have a list of things you plan to do with me?”

Wakatoshi looks at him weirdly before letting out a sharp laugh. “Is that how you see it?”

“An _agenda_.”

“If you must know,” Wakatoshi starts, looking down at their intertwined hands and rubs a thumb on the back of Kiyoomi’s hand. His ears are red again, which Kiyoomi thinks is cute. “The only thing on my agenda, to be frank, is to just spend time with you.”

Kiyoomi looks at him in surprise before grinning, the first time he has in a week. “Are you serious?”

“Of course,” Wakatoshi shrugs, letting go of his hand and Kiyoomi stops himself in following his hand, aching to feel his warm palm against his. “You’re my roommate and my friend. Lately, I’ve seen you less and less.”

Kiyoomi smiles and looks at the altar, cheeks heating. “All right, Wakatoshi-kun,” he glances at him. “I’ll spend time with you.”

“I’ll see you at our dorms, then.”

Kiyoomi looks back at the altar and stills. Wakatoshi stays quiet beside him and he squints at the cross, where Jesus lays crucified. He can see blood dripping from the top of His head and he follows it drip down to His crossed feet. It puddles to the floor in loud drips. When he blinks, he thinks he sees Brother Juro, dark eyes staring at him.

* * *

_the dreams come to him in bits and pieces._

_it starts out like some photo bordered in vignette; it’s dark, cold, and fuzzy. his breathing is hard and heavy as the sound of dragging leaves and heavy breathing occupy the air._

_he’s being dragged. he feels disgust settle over him slowly as dirt scrapes against his skin_

_“wh,” he mumbles out, blinking blurrily and he awakens more when he realizes that nothing comes out of his mouth. he soon feels the ache of his upturned arms, shoulders screaming for pain as he gets dragged on the dirty ground._

_his body feels drained yet heavy as he awakens even more. he can’t move._

oh god _, he thinks._ oh god oh fuck oh god i can’t move i can’t move my arms hurt where am i i can’t breathe i can’t move

 _the sound of running water and a cough snaps him out of his thoughts and the hands on his arms let him go and he flops on the ground, eyes wide open. water touches his nape and he’s_ oh god _he’s naked_

_“time to drown pretty boys,”_

familiar so familiar this voice is so familiar

_his body gets forcibly turned and he feels dirt on his mouth and he clamps it shut. he can practically vomit right now as dirt continues to dig inside his mouth and he almost feels like fainting_

don’t open them don’t open them don’t

_a tight grip on his neck. he’s dragged up and down and cold water hits his face and he holds his breath._

don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t breathe don’t

 _he holds his breath until he mistakenly breathes in water, shooting through his nose and he gasps in surprise_ fool fool _and water gets inside his mouth and he opens his mouth to foolishly choke it out, water going inside his mouth more and more and he coughs it out, he tries to cough it out and water only fills him up more and more and more and his body flails unexpectedly, now in control and awake and he’s seeing yellow and then black and his lungs are expanding and deflating and his nose feels like it’s being pinned against a bed of sharp pins and—_

_he gets dragged back out and he mistakenly swallows the water inside his mouth, throat screaming and pain enveloping him in hot waves. there’s pins and needles pricking at his nose and throat and lungs and he feels solid like a statue, so still and_

_he sees something shiny through his blurry eyesights_

_“it’s always nice to slice them up before they die,”_ i know this voice i know this voice i know you i know you i know you _“feel their blood pump as they try to stay alive. try to escape, will ya?”_

_he opens his eyes_

* * *

Kiyoomi leaves first, telling Wakatoshi that they can ‘spend time together’ in their dorm and that he still has to return some books to the library. Wakatoshi had shaken his head and laughed at him, even shooing him away which made Kiyoomi stick out his tongue at him.

He’d just come out of the library when Brother Juro stands in front of him, hands behind his back as he looks at him. His face is blank, making Kiyoomi feel nervous upon locking gazes with him.

“Brother Juro,” Kiyoomi says, surprised, as he bows down. “I didn’t —”

“Come with me, Sakusa,” Brother Juro cuts him off and proceeds to walk away to the direction of the office. Kiyoomi frowns yet follows him nonetheless. He’s been frequenting the main office and it isn’t even for good. He wonders what changed in Brother Juro.

“Brother Juro,” he starts, fingers playing with each other as they near the office. “If I may, did something happen? It’s just that I still need to —”

“Be quiet, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi clamps his mouth shut, surprised at the coldness of his voice. Soon, they’re inside the office that Sakusa had once deemed as a safe place. The atmosphere is tense yet quiet as Brother Juro beckons him to sit, going behind his desk.

“I know what you’re planning, Sakusa.”

Kiyoomi startles and he looks at him. “What?”

“Do you think that just because you’re of legal age means you can rebel? Do you wish to leave this school? And yet, go where?”

Kiyoomi blinks and feels disbelief. “What? Brother Juro, what are you talking about?”

Unlike before, Brother Juro is calm yet his face is red as he looks at Sakusa disapprovingly. “I know you think that just because you’re nearing senior year means you can do whatever you want, but let me remind you, Sakusa, you belong to this school and to me only. When you leave, you have nowhere to go except for here.”

Kiyoomi looks at him in surprise as Brother Juro continues, “I own you. Your parents legally made me your guardian. You cannot go anywhere without _my_ permission. So, don’t go planning stupid plans that will just harm you.”

“What?”

“Do I need to repeat myself, Sakusa?” Brother Juro levels him with such a heated glare that Kiyoomi feels it burn right through his skull. “Before you are yourself, you are mine. You belong to this school. I raised you. You owe me your whole life, you owe no one but me.”

“You,” Kiyoomi blinks rapidly and shakes his head. “You don’t _own_ me. I still have my parents! My family!”

“You have no one.” Brother Juro says steadily and Kiyoomi freezes. “When was the last time you saw your family, Sakusa? I know you always ask to stay here for the summer but I keep telling you no. Do you think I have not connected the dots?”

“Stop,” Kiyoomi chokes out, head spinning. “They’re just busy.”

“Busy enough to not go to your middle school graduation?”

“Stop! What are you saying?”

“I own you, Sakusa,” Brother Juro repeats. “You only have me and if I leave you, you’ll be all alone. Do you know how to contact your family?”

“I’m eighteen,” Kiyoomi resorts, feeling helpless and confused. _I don’t know how. I can’t contact them. I’ve always tried to. I can’t. I don’t._ “I can leave after I graduate.”

“Can you?” _And where will you go? Who’s going to take you?_

“I’m only looking out for you, Sakusa,” Brother Juro suddenly says and Kiyoomi’s eyesight is blurry. “You worry me lately. Is it wrong for me to worry about you? You are important to me, to this school.”

Kiyoomi stays quiet. “It’s hard to see someone I raised as my son go astray.”

Brother Juro sits down and sighs loudly, the sound echoing against Kiyoomi’s ears as he looks down in shame. His rosary presses against the back of his hand, the gold cross shimmering underneath the lights. “I know you think I’m being the bad guy here, but I just don’t want you to live a life you’ll soon regret. That’s why you’re here, in this school.”

Kiyoomi nods softly, voice unable to be found. Brother Juro only sighs in response.

“Are you getting me, Sakusa? I’m not the bad guy here, I just want what’s best for you and if I have to be the bad guy for it to happen, then so be it.”

_You have no one._

_No one will ever want you. Only me. I’m the only one you have._

“Do you understand me, Sakusa?”

_You can’t leave me._

“Yes,” Kiyoomi speaks out, voice raspy. He grips on the plush seat and the rosary jingles. “I do.”

“Good,” Brother Juro clears his throat. “Now, I don’t want you walking around with a frown on your face because I know it’s about me. Got it?”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi whispers, looking down at his clenched fists. “I’m sorry.”

“Good,” Brother Juro exhales. “I’m glad we had this talk. You may leave, if you want.”

Kiyoomi does. He moves silently and robotically, staring down at his own feet as he closes the office doors. He lays against it, quiet and still as the air outside the windows scream. He’s barely reached the window panels when he collapses against it, chest heaving as he covers his mouth with his hand, trying not to let his sobs escalate more and more.

He tries to focus on the falling of leaves outside, the calmness and stillness of the quadrangle with barely any students walking along it. The wind greets him as a hello and then goodbye, his fingers tightly gripping on the panels, nails gritting down the painted wood. The sound aggravates him even more and he quickly lets go of it, leaning against the wall next to the window, head leaned back as he tries to control his breathing. With a shaky inhale, he closes his eyes and tries to calm himself down, the words of Brother Juro echoing relentlessly in his mind.

His eyes snap open when the insistent ringing of a phone echoes around the empty hallway and he slowly leans away from the wall, cringing as his neck aches. He briefly looks outside the window and widens his eyes at the sudden darkness—stark comparison from when he closed his eyes earlier.

 _Wakatoshi-kun_.

He’s just about to walk away, a hand massaging his nape as he slowly stretches his muscles, nose sniffling when he hears the familiar and once-comforting voice of Brother Juro.

“Hello?”

Kiyoomi scrunches his nose. He’s not in the mood to hear him talk.

He straightens his body and moves when, “Sakusa-kun! Hello! It’s been a while!”

Kiyoomi freezes.

“Ah, sorry, sorry, Akihiko-san! How’s the family?”

 _Dad_.

Kiyoomi muffles a gasp with his hand as he slowly inches towards the door. The ache on his nape and his shoulders quickly disappear as he listens. His hands are shaking as he tries to keep quiet, listening as close as possible even when Brother Juro’s voice echoes around the vacant space.

“Ah, Kiyoomi-san? He’s doing all right! Finals have just finished, so he’s taking a rest right now.”

 _He’s been contacting you_. His hand is tight against his mouth as he tries to calm his breathing.

“Visit? Ah, no, no! It’s all right! Kiyoomi-san has told me that senior year is nearing, he has to study a lot, you know, Akihiko-san. Though, I’ll relay the message to him.”

 _Relay what message?_ The floor sways underneath him.

“Ah, the shoes? Yes, yes, he loved all of them! He says thank you for the other gifts as well, he misses you all!”

_You never give me anything._

_You told me they don’t care._

“So soon, already? Tell your family I say ‘hello’! And I apologize, truly, for Kiyoomi-san not being here again. You know, being a student has a lot of duties! He’s done a lot for the church, too, lately.”

Kiyoomi’s throat constricts and bubbles up, grossly whimpers leaving his chapped lips as he continues to listen. His hands shake from where they’re tightly clasped against his mouth and even still, he thinks he’s being too loud; that Brother Juro will just hear him and open the door, disappointed eyes and disapproving glares.

It doesn’t happen. Instead, he only hears hearty laughter.

“Of course, Kiyoomi-san is doing all right! Talk to him? Oh, I don’t know—finals, you know! I’ll ask him next time.”

Kiyoomi slowly walks backward, unable to hear more. His heart is loudly beating against his ears and he can barely hear anything around him as the large, wooden doors appear blurry and far away from him. He feels steady and fast tears slip down his swollen cheeks and onto his sweaty hands as he continues to walk away, Brother Juro’s laughter echoing and echoing. The gold cross twinkles and slices along his wrist.

With a muffled and wet gasp, Kiyoomi turns and runs.

Amidst it all, he doesn’t notice a figure at the end of the hallway, watching and following his figure with steady eyes.

  
  


Funnily enough, Kiyoomi finds himself lying down on the front pews of the church. He can’t find it in himself to care about the pew itself, the people who could have sat there, or how the darkness envelopes him in silence. He uses his bag as a makeshift pillow, metal, and notebooks hindering him from comfort yet he can’t—can’t do anything about anything.

He stares up at the ceiling, the only acquaintances he has in this dark night are his sniffles and ragged breaths. His mind is a messy haze; altering between memories from previous years, from Brother Juro’s talks, from his insistence in wanting to contact his family and the other saying no, the slow and subtle caging in from Brother Juro. His hands find comfort on the beads of his rosary; he wonders if this is given with love.

He can barely make out Jesus’ body on the cross from here. He wonders if he’ll ever wake up tomorrow and see if this is a dream.

_save me_

_“don’t leave me —”_

_“wakatoshi!”_

_bloody hands._

_pristine white uniform stained with blood and dirt._

_wake up_

_flashing images. taste of dirt. the lake._

_blood. blood. blood._

_“ushijima!”_

_a knife against his neck._

_water sloshing against his ears._

_“don’t go here.”_

  
  


_WAKE UP_

Kiyoomi wakes up with a gasp, sitting up on the pew and startling at the sound of his palms hitting the wood. He quickly sees other students praying yet stopping to look at him in either surprise or annoyance. He feels sweat drip off the sides of his face and he quickly bows in apology, facing the altar as he tries to calm his breathing.

It all felt too real, too near.

He can still feel the water brushing against the tip of his ears.

As his head clears, the aftermath of yesterday crashes onto him like a wave and he takes in a quick, shaky breath. He looks at the altar and wants to ask, _why?_

After a minute of breathing, he grabs hold of his bag and stands, tiredness seeping into his bones and every joint of his body is aching. It embarrasses him, for his joints to crack so loudly in the quiet church. He avoids everyone’s stare, almost running out of the church and actively avoiding every hallway that might help Brother Juro in seeing him.

When he goes inside his dorm for the first time, no one is there. He wonders if anything happened while he was gone, and then feels bad for ditching Wakatoshi last night.

 _It’s all right_. Kiyoomi robotically gets whatever he needs. He needs to take a shower. _Wakatoshi won’t mind. It’s not like it’s important_.

When he goes inside his dorm for the second time, this time with a clearer mind and a fresher body, he’s a little bit surprised to see Wakatoshi sitting by his desk, reading a novel.

“Kiyoomi,” says Wakatoshi in surprise. “You’re back.”

“Hi,” Kiyoomi smiles, closing the door gently and feeling embarrassed. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“What? No, no,” Wakatoshi closes his novel with a soft push. “It’s all right. I just want to know if you’re okay? I didn’t know what to do.”

“I’m fine,” Kiyoomi lies, walking closer to Wakatoshi’s side of the room. “Is it all right if I —?” he gestures to Wakatoshi’s bed and the other nods. Kiyoomi sits softly, trying it out. Of course, it’s the same as his, yet.

“Are you sure?” Wakatoshi asks, turning to face him from where he’s sitting. He places the novel gently on his desk, his touch so soft. “You were gone for a long time, and if I recall, you did not come home here.”

“Home, huh?” Kiyoomi echoes, smiling bitterly before wiping it off his face. “Ah, don’t worry, Wakatoshi-kun. I just had a rough talk with Brother Juro yesterday.”

“Oh.” For a moment, Wakatoshi’s face darkens and Kiyoomi looks at him in wonder. “I see. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Kiyoomi smiles at him, the lie coming naturally. “I was just startled but I’m all right now.”

“Hm,” Wakatoshi stares at him, tilting his head a little and Kiyoomi tries to smile at him, as if to reassure him. “All right. I’m glad you’re feeling better now.”

“I am,” Kiyoomi smiles and leans against his bed, the realization that he’s sitting on Wakatoshi’s bed settling on his bones. “I’m really sorry about last night.”

Wakatoshi shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it, Kiyoomi, it’s all right.”

“Sure?”

“Of course, as long as you came home safe and sound.”

Wakatoshi smiles at him and for a moment, for a day, Kiyoomi forgets.

  
  


For the day, Kiyoomi stays in Wakatoshi’s side of the room, playing with his blanket, even hugging one of the pillows as Wakatoshi tells him he can. Amidst the storytelling and the laughter, Wakatoshi’s chair is nearer to his bed and Kiyoomi wants to say _it’s okay, sit here next to me. i won’t mind_.

He can’t bring himself to say it, though.

Kiyoomi tells him stories of when he was a child, painfully opening up and lying of Brother Juro’s importance to him. He holds a pillow close to his face, recalling memories of how he’s been there for him through everything, how he almost talked to Kiyoomi regarding his problems, and even talking to other teachers whenever they gave the workload too heavy. As he talks, Kiyoomi wonders if it was all just a facade. As Wakatoshi listens, Kiyoomi looks at his face a little too closely—the way they go dark and darker as Kiyoomi recalls of the times Brother Juro helped him.

And in return, Wakatoshi talks of his family—of his parents, how he kept close with them despite the divorce, how close he is with his dad, even if he holds a bit of grief and resentment, and then, surprisingly, how he used to play volleyball. Kiyoomi wants to ask why he stopped, or if he stopped because of the lack of sports in the school, but with Wakatoshi’s sunken face, he can’t really say anything.

It surprises him when Wakatoshi stands up, laughing about how _time flies so fast, we spent the whole day talking_ and Kiyoomi then notices the room; bathed in a deep red and yet bright orange, yet the trees and branches outside of his window paint the floors with pointy and dark shadows. Everything is orange and red, painting over everything and Kiyoomi looks down at his hand, illuminated blood red. The sound of footsteps catch his attention and he looks up to see Wakatoshi stand up, illuminated by the shadows and then the colors, standing directly in the spot where the sun hits the room and he’s a beautiful mess of orange and yellow and red, golden and sanguinary and Kiyoomi feels his breath catch in his throat.

 _Wakatoshi-kun_ , Kiyoomi thinks, hugging his pillow close to him as Wakatoshi’s fingers gently switch on the lights. He blinks steadily against the bright lights and Kiyoomi smiles. _Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi-kun. When did saying your name feel so familiar?_

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi suddenly says, mind a little blank and hazy. The hum Wakatoshi does only makes him sway a little more. “You were my first kiss.”

They both stare at each other and Kiyoomi feels dread spread around him. He tries to act nonchalant, however, even when he feels his entire body warm up.

Wakatoshi looks at him in surprise. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Kiyoomi shrugs even though there’s a nagging voice screaming at him to _shut up_ inside his mind. “Was it that bad?”

“No, no,” Wakatoshi says with a gentle laugh. He walks closer to Kiyoomi and then gently sits down on his bed. He’s close, so close, and yet. “All right, I’ll be honest —”

“Wakatoshi-kun!” Kiyoomi gasps in surprise before letting out a sharp laugh. “Oh, you’re teasing me!”

“No, no, I’m not,” Wakatoshi says with a laugh, eyes crinkling as he looks at Kiyoomi. The lights downcast on him and yet he still looks so handsome. “It’s just —”

“Just?” Kiyoomi echoes, brows furrowed in confusion.

“It’s just,” Wakatoshi starts, suddenly shy and looking away from him. His words continue off to a mumble and Kiyoomi leans closer to him.

“Wakatoshi-kun?”

“I could teach you.”

Kiyoomi stays silent and then, “How to kiss?”

Wakatoshi stares at him, face slowly going red, and Kiyoomi almost coos at the way his ears turn bright red. “Wakatoshi-kun,” he gasps. “This is so unlike you!”

“Oh, now you’re making fun.”

“I’m not, I’m not!” Kiyoomi leans closer, a gentle smile on his lips. “That’s awfully sweet of you, Wakatoshi-kun.”

As if a final touch, Wakatoshi’s bottom lip juts out a little as he continues to look away. Kiyoomi brings a hand up to his mouth. “Are you —”

“I’m not,” Wakatoshi snarls his lips and glares at Kiyoomi. “Kiyoomi, you are surprisingly mean.”

“I’m not saying no!”

Wakatoshi turns to him sharply and Kiyoomi takes in a sharp inhale. Their noses brush briefly and Kiyoomi instinctively leans back, eyes wide and a blush bordering on his nose and cheeks.

“What are you saying, Kiyoomi?”

Wakatoshi asks as if Kiyoomi had just said a joke and his heart breaks a little.

“I’m serious,” Kiyoomi says, leveling Wakatoshi with a glare, even if his face feels numb due to the embarrassment. “You can teach me.”

Silence hugs them and then, Wakatoshi smiles, teasing. “Teach you what?”

Kiyoomi glares at him, hoping he gets his message across. “You know!”

Wakatoshi tilts his head again. “I don’t know.”

 _He is actually very mean_ , Kiyoomi thinks. “You know,” he tries again, a little frustrated yet still so shy. “How to kiss.”

“Would you like that?”

Kiyoomi blinks. “I—I would, yes.”

Wakatoshi looks at him and then down to his lips. An automatic response, he licks his lips, wondering if they’re chapped or not. He feels a small burst of pride when Wakatoshi’s eyes widen and he quickly looks back at him.

“You are serious.”

Kiyoomi blinks. “Yes, I am serious, Wakatoshi-kun. You prompted this.”

Kiyoomi suddenly grins, sly and teasing. “Are you backing out, Wakatoshi-kun?” He even pokes at his arm and Wakatoshi huffs, suddenly facing him.

“All right, then.”

They both face each other and Wakatoshi takes a deep breath. “Is it all right if I touch you?”

“Like —”

“On your face, Kiyoomi.” Wakatoshi stifles a laugh at Kiyoomi’s wide eyes and the other glares at him, setting his hands by his side.

“It’s all right with me.”

“Okay,” Wakatoshi clears his throat and cups Kiyoomi’s face with both hands. His hands are warm and large, making Kiyoomi’s impossibly-hot and red cheeks to even heat up more. They both lock eyes and Kiyoomi takes in a shaky inhale.

“This is how you kiss, then,” Wakatoshi breathes out softly, hands tightening around his face. Kiyoomi stays silent and watches as Wakatoshi stares at him before he lets out a soft chuckle.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers and Kiyoomi startles. He nods and closes his eyes and waits for Wakatoshi.

Wakatoshi kisses his cupid’s bow first, and, as Kiyoomi’s lips part, his top lip and then his bottom lip. He smiles when he hears Kiyoomi sigh.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” he whispers, tilting his head and leaning closer. “Kiss me?”

Wakatoshi’s thumb rubs circles by the side of his mouth and then, he leans in and presses their lips together. Kiyoomi’s lips are soft and pliant against his and Wakatoshi wonders what would happen if he just presses a little harder and—

Kiyoomi lets out a muffled sound, a mix between a gasp and a moan and Wakatoshi takes this chance to sneak his tongue inside his mouth and to touch with his. Kiyoomi softly pulls away, eyes a little glossed and a high blush on his cheeks. “Wakatoshi-kun,” he says breathlessly and Wakatoshi wants him like this always. “I don’t…”

He hovers his hands from where they were clutching the blankets and Wakatoshi blinks.

“Oh.”

He takes one of Kiyoomi’s hands and intertwines their fingers. The other he maneuvers to his nape. “You can touch me,” Wakatoshi whispers against his lips. “It’s okay, Kiyoomi.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi breathes out, eyes focused on his mouth. He surprises Wakatoshi by leaning close and kissing him open-mouthed, messy and so unlike him, so unlike his neat and tidy self and room that it makes Wakatoshi’s brain short-circuit. At the same time, his fingers find themselves playing with the ends of Wakatoshi’s hair and he shifts a little, laying on Wakatoshi’s pillows. Kiyoomi sighs softly, playing with the soft ends of his hair.

Wakatoshi follows him, their interlaced hands pressing against the bedsheets. Even with Kiyoomi making the first move, he doesn’t know how to kiss which makes Wakatoshi smile against their kiss.

“You’re teasing,” Kiyoomi murmurs, pulling at the ends of his hair a little harshly and Wakatoshi presses their lips together again. He gets comfortable a little, pressing his elbows against the bed so he’s not crushing Kiyoomi. Their legs meet and they both shiver, thighs touching thighs as Wakatoshi tries to lift his hips.

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmurs and kisses him a little messily, how the other likes. His other hand finds Kiyoomi’s hips and stays there, gripping tightly. Their tongues meet again and Kiyoomi follows his lead, lazily touching and playing with each other before Wakatoshi’s teeth scrape softly against his tongue and Kiyoomi lets out a surprised and breathy sound, hips rising briefly to meet Wakatoshi’s.

Kiyoomi pulls away and moves his head to the side in embarrassment. His hips slowly move back down and Wakatoshi stares at him. “Sorry,” he whispers, cheeks red and warm. His chest is heaving as he tries to control his breathing and Wakatoshi’s hand leaves his hip to settle over to his chin, making him face him again. Kiyoomi wants to eat Wakatoshi. His hair is all messy, lips glossed red as he looks at Kiyoomi with dark, hooded eyes. Kiyoomi wants to paint this sight of Wakatoshi on his eyelids. Kiyoomi wants to keep him all to himself.

The sight of Kiyoomi, breathless, cheeks and lips stained red, with his eyes a little teary makes Wakatoshi want to devour him.

“I’m teaching you how to kiss,” Wakatoshi whispers, voice low and deep, and Kiyoomi’s breath stutters. “I like the sounds you make.”

Kiyoomi nods and bites on his bottom lip, which Wakatoshi immediately touches and he lets go of it. “Teach me again,” Kiyoomi whispers hotly, his tongue swipes at his thumb and Wakatoshi wastes no time in kissing him messily and roughly. Kiyoomi’s hand moves from his nape and to wrap around his wrist, eventually intertwining their fingers again for Wakatoshi to press against the bed again.

This time, Kiyoomi makes soft, breathless sounds, his hands laced with his constantly squeezing and tightening. Only when Kiyoomi’s hips rise to meet his does Wakatoshi let out a soft groan, his other hand moving down to his hips and pinning him down the bed. He pulls away briefly to calm himself down, the feel of Kiyoomi’s hips against his is ever-present on his mind.

“Ah, shit,” Kiyoomi whispers hotly against his lips. “I wonder what the Lord is feeling right now, seeing His son like this.”

Wakatoshi stills before letting out a sudden laugh. “Don’t talk about God in the middle of kissing,” he says breathlessly, suddenly realizing how out of breath and heavy his breathing is.

“Would you rather I talk about Brother Juro, then?”

Wakatoshi lets out a rough laugh, resting his forehead against his. “Oh, god, shut up, Kiyoomi.”

“Kiss me.”

Wakatoshi does. He kisses him, soft and pliant. He kisses him, messy and fast. He kisses him, slow and passionate. Kiyoomi kisses him back just as passionate. The feel of Wakatoshi on top of him, heavy and warm, the feel of his hands against his, heavy yet soft, his lips, harsh, soft, loving. Kiyoomi feels like crying, which is kinda stupid when Wakatoshi’s tongue is inside his mouth.

Something wet drops on his forehead.

_drip_

_drip_

_drip_

The sound of water dripping from a faucet.

He pulls away softly and Wakatoshi leans his cheek against his, his breathing heavy and familiar against his ear. Kiyoomi opens his eyes and freezes.

Blood drops on his forehead.

_it’s always nice to slice them up before they die_

With tears as red as blood streaming down his dirt-covered face, he smiles at Kiyoomi, hanging above Wakatoshi. His teeth are stained red, his eyes a matching bloodshot red, as he runs a tongue over his front teeth. His mouth, dripping with blood, on Kiyoomi, on Wakatoshi, forms a sentence that Kiyoomi can’t hear.

Kiyoomi’s breathing quickens and he can barely hear Wakatoshi asking if he’s okay.

_you’re next_

It’s—It’s—

Toshio’s eyes roll back and he opens his mouth wider, blood and vomits falling down on them and Kiyoomi screams, pushing and kicking Wakatoshi away as his arms cover his face, backing himself against the wall as he screams and cries, breathing dry and heavy and he can feel blood pour down on him and then the smell of rotten eggs and rotten meat and garbage and feces and—

“Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi—”

“No, no,” Kiyoomi cries out, nails clawing at his eyes and nose as he kicks at his feet. “He’s here—he’s—there on the—he’s—”

The smell sticks to him and he heaves out his breathing, eyes teary and blurry as he tries to focus them on his hands. As he blinks rapidly, he can see the blood disappear and appear on his hands and he can feel his entire body shaking. Blood stains the white beads on his rosary and his heart jumps and rattles against his chest, begging to be let out.

Someone cups his face and he looks to see Wakatoshi staring at him with wide yet comforting eyes and for a moment, Kiyoomi understands what he’s trying to say.

 _I understand. It’s okay. You don’t have to explain_.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” Kiyoomi gasps out, cheeks wet and numb as he looks up to see the bare ceiling. “He—He was, there was —”

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi cuts him off and takes a deep inhale. “Follow my breathing. Can you follow me?”

Kiyoomi whimpers and looks at Wakatoshi’s chest, tries to follow the rise and fall and rise and fall and rise and fall until his lips are shaking and he can breathe out shakily.

“There was,” Kiyoomi breathes out, throat tight and dry. “He was there in the ceiling, it was To —”

The room floods with insistent knocking and Kiyoomi turns to the door.

“Let me,” Wakatoshi starts to stand and Kiyoomi shakes his head.

“No, it’s okay,” he whispers, holding onto Wakatoshi’s wrists. “I’ll get it.”

He stands up and hastily wipes at his tears, even when his eyes and cheeks are terribly swollen. He clears his throat and takes in a shaky breath. And then, he opens the door.

With his fist raised, Bokuto Koutarou, a senior whom Kiyoomi is familiar with, gasps, and his eyes widen. “Omi-omi!”

“Bokuto-san,” Kiyoomi clears his throat. “I apologize if I may have inconvenienced you.”

“Inconvenience?” Koutarou tilts his head in confusion and he shakes his head. “No! I’m worried about you, Omi-omi! Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Kiyoomi holds onto the doorknob tightly. “I was reading a novel.”

Koutarou narrows his eyes at him. “A novel?”

Kiyoomi nods.

“What a rather explosive reaction to a novel.”

Kiyoomi grips onto the doorknob even tighter as Koutarou turns around in surprise. “Toshio-san!”

Toshio looks at Kiyoomi. “Are you all right, Sakusa-san?”

Kiyoomi looks at him and sees blood. “Yes, I am.”

Toshio looks at him closely and Kiyoomi wants to vomit, wants the other to leave him alone. He can already feel his hands violently shaking behind him as Toshio stays quiet, eyes dark and calculating at Kiyoomi. He can see red by the inner tear ducts of his eyes.

“I see,” Toshio nods and then at Koutarou. “If there are any more problems or noises, I advise you to put down your novel, Sakusa-san. It’s nearing curfew.”

“Yeah,” Koutarou nods and grins at Kiyoomi; a moment of peace. “Or come to my room! Kuroo’s there, too!”

“Thank you, Bokuto-san,” Kiyoomi bows to him and then to Toshio. “You, too, Toshio-san.”

He closes the door with a muffled whimper, hands shaking as he tries to lock it. When he can’t, he slides down against the door, hands tightly clasped against his mouth as he tries to hide his sobbing. Instinctively, his other hand wraps themselves around his rosary, trying to find the comfort and familiarity of the cold, golden cross. 

He can still see the flashing images of Toshio against the back of his eyelids. His bloodshot eyes. The blood streaming down his eyes. His blood-stained teeth. The vomit. The smell of dead bodies. The smell of the lake.

Through it all, he can’t even feel the warmth and touch of Wakatoshi trying to comfort him on the floor.

* * *

they saw three bodies in the lake. with the lake connected to the town’s tourist attraction, the town located just by the ends of the hill, a lake underneath a beautiful bridge that is decorated by trees and fallen leaves. it was the most beautiful spot of the town. with the early morning fog, the town had been rudely awakened by the blood-curdling scream of a few mother’s going for their daily morning grocery runs.

the local news station and radio had swarmed to cover it, voices rushed yet calm. they had explained it in horrid detail.

_drained of blood._

_choked and drowned yet killing them while they were still alive_.

the cameramen zoom in on their blurred-face bodies. blurred red against the space of the neck. eyes rolled back. back arched. even with the blurs, one can still identify the name and logo of the school by the sides of their uniform.

the school on top of the hill, in the middle of the forest.

two guards. a brother, brother mark, still wearing his cassock, a close friend of the principal. the collar by his neck is stained red with blood. his fists, now loose, wrapped on his sleeves with blood and dirt under his nails.

the police say they were fighting against their assailant, struggling to survive.

brother juro, too distraught of the news, respectfully asks to stay away from the camera. toshio, his right-hand man, answers questions for him.

 _an act made to defy god_ , he stares at the lens with bloodshot eyes. _whoever committed these sins will soon be reprimanded. brother mark, hayato-san, ryusei-san, they were all good and loved the students with all their hearts. their souls may live on peacefully and we will make sure that they are remembered as such._

another zoom in on the bodies. in the fist of one of the guards, ryusei-san, a rosary broken in half.

* * *

With the aftermath of finals and the news, everyone is silent and moves in whispers and murmurs. Today, Kiyoomi sits inside Brother Juro’s main office, unsurprisingly called in due to his screams and cries last Saturday night. This time, however, he looks at Brother Juro in the eyes, defiance.

“Let’s stop this, Sakusa,” Brother Juro sighs in defeat, leaning back against his chair. “Are you satisfied? Is this what you intend to do? Your form of rebellion?”

Kiyoomi stays silent, still staring at him with glared eyes. He’d grown to get used to Brother Juro’s red face and hurtful words. Kiyoomi wonders if this is a way of parental love. Love hurts? Tough love.

Kiyoomi really doesn’t have any other choices. He’d thought about it already, if he should talk to him regarding what he heard but what will that do? He was stuck here. Brother Juro owns him. He doesn’t have any other choices except to obey him.

Still, he looks at him with glared eyes. Besides, isn’t that what children do with their parents? Tough love.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Brother Juro snaps and Kiyoomi startles. “Are you wishing for me to die right now? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

Kiyoomi looks down and shakes his head. He can’t say anything to defend himself. He can’t do anything for himself.

“I’m not in the mood with your selfish games, Sakusa,” Brother Juro almost pleads. “Are you not aware of what happened last weekend? And then you go and scream for murder all because of a novel?”

“It’s not,” Kiyoomi croaks out and Brother Juro raises a brow at him. “I’m not—I was just with my roommate, it really wasn’t my intention.”

“What?”

“I was just with my roommate and we were just talking, I promise,” Kiyoomi says the truth then. “I lied about the novel and I’m really sorry, I prayed to God already and asked for forgiveness. But we just saw a spider then and I didn’t wanna tell it to Bokuto-san and Toshio-san, then. I’m really sorry, Brother Juro.”

“Who were you with?”

“My roommate,” Kiyoomi explains, begging almost. Even when he thought he’d got used to his red face and hurtful words, Brother Juro strikes new panic and anxiety inside of him. Maybe this is what parental love truly feels like. Love, anxiety, panic, pain, love, love, love. “Wakatoshi.”

“What?” Brother Juro’s face is redder and Kiyoomi feels nervous.

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” he repeats. “My new roommate.”

Brother Juro sits up slowly, looking at Kiyoomi in disbelief. “Is this a sick joke, Sakusa?”

“Excuse me —”

“I am not in the mood with your sick games,” Brother Juro spits out, eyes wide in anger. “How dare you tell me all these lies and sickness!”

“Brother Juro, I —”

“No,” Brother Juro breathes out, face red in anger yet his voice is calm, as if trying to keep his temper still. “I am not listening to you anymore, Sakusa. You are trying to kill me here. Are you satisfied now? Is this your plan all along?”

“What?” Kiyoomi asks in confusion. “There’s no plan! I was just saying the truth!”

“Tell me, Sakusa,” Brother Juro seethes out, sitting straight in his chair. “Why the hell are you doing this?”

Kiyoomi sits in shock at his curse. “I’m not doing —”

“Not doing anything?” Brother Juro mocks him, hands tightly clasped around the edge of his desk. “You’re making a fool out of me.”

“I’m not,” Kiyoomi feels his eyes tear up for the first time since Brother Juro had been so harsh to him. “I was just with Wakatoshi, I promise, I’m not lying, I promise!”

Brother Juro looks at him silently, face red as he clears his throat, leaning against his chair. “You do not have a roommate.”

Kiyoomi’s mind blanks. “What?”

“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” Brother Juro spits out his name like it’s a disease. “Is dead.”

Kiyoomi’s mouth speaks before he can think, “What?”

This time, Brother Juro is fierce and strong as he spits out, like chewed up bubblegum. “Ushijima Wakatoshi is dead.”

Kiyoomi’s grip on his rosary loosens. “What?”

Brother Juro sighs as if tired of the conversation. “You do not have a roommate. You’ve been alone all this time, Sakusa. So, please,” he looks at Kiyoomi with hard set eyes. “Stop this nonsense. Pull yourself together.”

Unknowingly, Kiyoomi takes in a shaky and loud inhale and Brother Juro narrows his eyes at him. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you glaring at me?”

Kiyoomi’s mind is blank and he can barely feel his nails digging into his wrist.

“Answer me, Sakusa!” Brother Juro’s hand slams down the desk and Kiyoomi blinks. “Oh, you’re glaring at me. Are you mad at me, Sakusa?”

Kiyoomi tries to shake his head yet he can’t bring it in himself to move, to take control of his body. His eyes focus on Brother Juro yet he wants to look away. He feels hazy, far away, out of touch.

“So, you are mad.”

Kiyoomi looks away, surprised that he can still do it. He looks down at his wrist. Blood gashes against the gold cross.

“Now, you won’t look at me. Are you mad, Sakusa? That you failed your plan?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head. He wants to speak. To ask. 

“Leave.” Brother Juro spits out. “If all you’re gonna do is be mad at me, then leave. And make sure you’ve pulled yourself together the next time I see you.”

Kiyoomi tries to calm himself by the window next to the office. He can see Wakatoshi on the quadrangle, surrounded by a group of people. As he looks at Wakatoshi and the way he smiles, talks, interacts with people, he wonders if he was the one in the wrong, or if it was Brother Juro all along.

“What are we looking at?”

Kiyoomi turns to him. “My roommate.”

“Oh,” Motoya blinks and stands next to him. “Where?”

“There,” he nods towards Wakatoshi. “He’s right behind Atsumu there.”

“Who, again?”

“Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi answers without thinking and then blinks, heart racing. “Ushijima Wakatoshi. That’s him right there.” _That’s him, behind Atsumu, talking to a curly-haired boy._

“No one’s behind Atsumu.”

“No,” Kiyoomi answers instantly. “He’s there. Behind him.”

“It’s just Atsumu and Osamu there. Huh. There aren’t a lot of people out today.”

 _No_ , Kiyoomi thinks, like he’s about to give up. There are _four people behind them._

“You saw Wakatoshi then, right?”

Motoya turns to him but Kiyoomi locks his gaze on Wakatoshi. He looks around as if sensing eyes on him.

“Yeah!” Motoya hums, turning to the window again, pressing his nose against it. “Do you think Atsumu’ll hear us? And Ushijima’s the one with a tall and lean build, right? And spiky hair?”

Kiyoomi smiles. “Hah.”

“Hm?”

“Nothing.” Kiyoomi feels helpless and lost. Outside, Wakatoshi looks up and their eyes meet.

  
  


Kiyoomi finds him, his black and white face printed on a 1982 yearbook. It still shocked him when he saw Wakatoshi, young and blank-faced, even when he already knew. It was as if it was a cruel prank that he waited to happen. He sits in the quiet library, mind blank yet somehow racing as he runs his fingers over Wakatoshi’s photo. He’s in the middle of other black-and-white photos of teenage boys that Kiyoomi has never seen before. Right on top, it says in an old font: **YEAR 3, CLASS 3**. And right there, Wakatoshi.

**Ushijima Wakatoshi** **  
**_August 13, 1964_  
“I will become Japan’s top ace one day.”

Almost twenty years since he graduated. He stares at his photo, wanting to tear the photo out and eat it, vanishing Wakatoshi’s existence with his teeth.

It’s a blur, how fast Kiyoomi’s feet take him to their dorms, the yearbook burning underneath his arm as he tries to control his breathing, his emotions. He wants out, he wants in, he wants Wakatoshi, he wants to be in the lake, surrounded by water.

He wants out.

The door opens quietly and he almost screams at the sight of Wakatoshi, taking up such small space on his bed as he reads a book.

“Kiyoomi,” he says like he already knows.

“Tell me,” Kiyoomi chokes out, cheeks feeling numb as he walks closer and throws the yearbook on the book, opening up perfectly on Wakatoshi’s page, settling by his thighs. Wakatoshi is silent, looking at himself. “Why are you there. Why are you here.”

 _Tell me, Wakatoshi-kun. Tell me what he said was wrong. Tell me those were lies. Tell me the truth_.

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says again and it’s an answer enough.

Kiyoomi’s lips shake and the floor says underneath him as he shakes his head, stepping back from Wakatoshi.

Wakatoshi stands up and there’s the rustling of sheets, the messy folds of his blankets, the lingering ghost of his body marking itself on his bed and Kiyoomi thinks, you exist.

“You don’t exist,” he gasps out, shaking his head. “Wakatoshi —”

“No,” Wakatoshi says firmly and he looks so small yet so large, eyes not wavering as he continues to look at Kiyoomi. “I exist. I once existed and I still do.”

“No,” Kiyoomi breathes out. “Brother Juro said—you’re dead, you’re not really here, are you?”

Wakatoshi stays silent and the sky outside is bright, so bright and alive. “No.”

Kiyoomi muffles a choked out sob and turns to the window, fists clenching by his sides. The sky is bright blue. “You were here twenty years ago.”

“I was,” Wakatoshi’s throat is tight and closing up on him and he wants Kiyoomi to look at him and to leave him alone. “I was killed here.”

Kiyoomi’s hand flies up to cover his mouth and he shakes his head. “Wakatoshi —”

“Brother Juro killed me,” Wakatoshi insists and Kiyoomi stays quiet, hands tightening around his mouth. “But I exist—I exist and I’m here and I’m not leaving until he—until he’s —”

“Stop,” Kiyoomi whispers, turning to him now, eyesight blurry. “Please stop, Wakatoshi-kun.”

“No,” Wakatoshi says, breathing heavily as he walks towards Kiyoomi. There’s so much happening on his face; insistence, anger, sadness, guilt, and Kiyoomi can’t look away from him. “I exist. I exist, Kiyoomi. I do! I exist and you see me, and I do, I do —”

Wakatoshi sounds so desperate and he looks so small, like everything is just going to eat him up and Kiyoomi wants to reach out, to hold him and see if he truly exists.

“Wakatoshi-kun,” he breathes out and it’s like a spell being cast. He wants to eat him up and to keep him there, safe and alive and existing. “Wakatoshi-kun.”

Kiyoomi moves first and he reaches out his hand and Wakatoshi extends his. _You exist, you exist, you exist within me and everywhere around me. Wakatoshi-kun_.

  
  


Wakatoshi had just graduated and was about to leave when it happened.

A tradition when you graduate: go to the garden in the middle of the night and pick off the plant you’ve been taking care of since your first year there. A wonderful and special souvenir from the memories you’ve made and the school itself.

It was a trap disguised as a tradition. 

What’s worse, you’d have to do it in turns, give the person ten, fifteen minutes, and then go for your plant. Wakatoshi had been the last one to go, feeling indifferent yet restless. He’d never told anyone but that night, he felt something different; had felt invisible eyes on him ever since he got his diploma; the ghosts of hands wrapped around his neck. But he couldn’t do anything about it in the end, it was tradition.

And so, he went, with a big flashlight on hand and trying to copy the footsteps up to the garden, the trees unusually quiet, waiting for something to happen.

It was typical.

Chloroform on the mouth. Struggling for long periods of time and then, Wakatoshi’s sight is black and gone.

When he woke up, he was naked and the lake was touching his nape. He’d been lucky to die drowning than to experience being killed alive by a slit on the throat.

“Oh my god,” Kiyoomi whispers out, hands tightly clasped against Wakatoshi’s. The other looks so sullen and dark, eyes dull as he recalls. Kiyoomi regrets making him rethink the memory. “Did they…”

“No,” Wakatoshi mumbles, voice dry and cracking. “Haven’t you noticed how the school has been headed by Brother Juro even from the start? And how he never shows himself on cameras?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t, and he brings his knees closer to himself, feeling like jello being melted under the sun. 

“He thinks it makes him younger,” Wakatoshi whispers, voice full of pain. “Drinking and bathing in the blood of the boys he’s killed.”

A tear slick down Wakatoshi’s cheek and Kiyoomi’s hand curls up beside him, wanting to wipe it away. Wakatoshi lets out a laugh so deprived of humor yet full of mocking pain. “And it works. For some reason, it _fucking_ works. He still looks the same as when he killed me. Nothing changed about him. He’s still the same.”

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi finally lets out, pulling Wakatoshi’s hand closer to him and holding it against his chest. “I’m sorry, Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi.”

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi whispers. “It’s not your fault.”

Kiyoomi’s lips tremble and he takes in a shaky inhale. “It feels like it is.”

“You’re not him,” a hand against his cheekbone. “You’ll never be him. It was never your fault, I never once thought of that.”

Kiyoomi lets out a broken sob, pressing Wakatoshi’s hand against his lips and kissing them wetly, unable to see due to his tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Wakatoshi whispers again and Kiyoomi wants to bury himself alive. Wakatoshi’s fingers against his cheek are soft and gentle and he wants Wakatoshi to slap him, force him to leave the dorm.

“But why do I see you,” Kiyoomi whispers, can’t bear to look at Wakatoshi. “Why am I the only one?”

“Because you’re here, I was the first one in this dorm,” Wakatoshi answers, moving closer to him. “He never let anyone in and then there was you.”

“Me,” Kiyoomi whispers. “That’s why I can see you?”

Wakatoshi lets out a huff. “Did you think it was fate?”

Kiyoomi finally looks at him, annoyed at his joke and gently biting at Wakatoshi’s knuckles. “I don’t know how you can still joke.”

“It’s been twenty years,” Wakatoshi whispers again. “I’ve been alone for twenty years. They kept me locked up in here and then one day, you came in and let me out. I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“I’ll kill him,” Kiyoomi whispers against Wakatoshi’s knuckles. “I’ll deprive him of blood and let him grow old and weak and I’ll kill him.”

Wakatoshi’s eyes are wide and dark and Kiyoomi stares into them intensely. “I’ll kill him, Wakatoshi-kun. I’m gonna kill Brother Juro. I’ll make sure he regrets staying alive.”

Wakatoshi smiles. “You think we haven’t done that already?”

It had been an elaborate plan from the start. All they needed was Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi doesn’t know how long they stayed there, talking and crying, but he knows that this is where he wanna stay: in Wakatoshi’s bed, holding his hand and laying face to face with him. Their voices had dwindled down to cracked whispers and scratchy voices yet they can’t break apart from each other. Kiyoomi looks at Wakatoshi and wants to keep him inside his heart, safe forever.

“He’ll get you soon,” Wakatoshi whispers, painful yet still tender. His hand shakily brushes Kiyoomi’s cheekbones and he shudders. Wakatoshi had never felt this way before, had never felt such closeness and intimacy for another. “Now that he knows. And you’re nearing your third year.” _Like how he got me. Like how he got others._

“Why?” Kiyoomi whispers back, eyes staring at Wakatoshi’s eyelashes. He wants to wrap a hand around Wakatoshi’s wrist. He wants to feel him, to hold him as gently as he’s being held.

“Pretty,” Wakatoshi whispers. “He gets the pretty ones.”

Kiyoomi feels his breath stutter. “What?”

Wakatoshu nods, oblivious to what Kiyoomi is feeling. “Why he chose me, I don’t know. But he always chose the pretty ones, delicate faces, smart.”

“You’re pretty, too.”

Wakatoshi cracks a smile and huffs out a laugh. “Funny. But be careful, Kiyoomi, I’m serious.”

Kiyoomi’s hand wraps Wakatoshi’s wrist and he brings his fingers up to his lips. With his eyes still looking at Wakatoshi’s, he presses a soft kiss on his index finger and smiles at the shuddering breath the other lets out. He presses a kiss again and makes sure to press it against his lips a little bit longer.

A kiss on the pad of his middle finger. “I’ll be safe,” he whispers, kissing them gently. “I promise, Wakatoshi-kun.”

Wakatoshi wraps his hand around his jaw and whispers, roughly and hoarsely, “I want you to be alive and safe, Kiyoomi.”

“I will,” Kiyoomi chokes out, moving closer to him and their legs bump against each other. “I will for you. I’ll never leave you.”

  
  


“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says from his bed, the next morning when Kiyoomi is getting ready. It’s routine now, the way his fingers skillfully do his tie and he feels weak, knowing this is how Brother Juro taught him. He can still feel his cold fingers guiding him to do it. He never truly learned how until his first year, wanting Brother Juro’s father-like presence to guide him.

“Yes, Wakatoshi-kun,” he says softly, looking away from his mirror and to him. Here, Wakatoshi doesn’t have to pretend anymore—doesn’t have to pretend to go to class, to wear his uniform diligently. Kiyoomi wonders if the uniforms he used to wear was the one he died in. Quickly, he vanishes that thought from his mind.

He walks closer to him, right in between his legs, and looks at him. Wakatoshi is alive and beautiful and he exists and he is here. Kiyoomi wants to touch him and feel his heart.

“When I first saw you,” Wakatoshi starts and looks up at him, eyes vulnerable and tender. “It was like my heart knew. Like, _hello, there you are_.”

Kiyoomi feels like crying. “Really?” he whispers, stepping closer and finally running his hands over Wakatoshi’s hair. They’re soft and they exist and he’s alive and he’s alive and—

“Yes, I feel like I was meant to find you.”

“Even like this?”

“Especially like this.” 

Kiyoomi leans down and presses down his lips against his forehead. His skin is warm and Kiyoomi presses on a little longer, wants to stay here forever. He whispers, soft and hidden, “There you are, Wakatoshi-kun.”

  
  


It felt more like a goodbye than a sweet confession.

  
  


Kiyoomi walks around the familiar school with the touch and kiss of Wakatoshi lingering in his skin and he wants to shout at everyone, to let them all know of Brother Juro’s evil self and how he’s killed. He doesn’t want more victims. He doesn’t want to see more bloody uniforms.

As the day stretches on, he feels the sharp and deafening pin of eyes on him and he wonders if there’ll be a time for him to see Wakatoshi before he gets ruined.

It’s when Brother Juro suddenly announces a night mass, encouraging every student to attend and to reconcile with the Lord does Kiyoomi feel dread to settle onto him. As he walks alongside the teenage boys, bloody red and violet painting over them like a warning, he takes a moment to slow down. It’s better to be him than someone else.

Maybe it’s what Kiyoomi expected—the feel and smell of chloroform against his mouth as he loses consciousness, the crowd of students just a few feet away from him yet they can’t see or hear him as he struggles against the stronghold on his body. When his eyesight blackens and blurs, he thinks he sees Wakatoshi staring at him with wide eyes.

_save me_

When he wakes up, he smells soil and fertilizer and he coughs, _the shed in the garden_.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.”

Kiyoomi’s body curls as he lets out a cough, eyes immediately sighting the silhouette of a rusty axe laying on the ground in front of him, hidden by sacks of fertilizers. He feels sticky and dirty and he wonders how long he’s been asleep.

“Wake up, Sakusa.”

Someone forces him to sit up before slapping him harshly, his head turning to the side due to its sheer force. His cheek stings and numbs as he blinks rapidly, staring at the dirty, wooden floors of the shed. He can taste metal on his tongue.

“You know,” that’s Brother Juro’s voice. “I never do this but you just keep disappointing me, Sakusa.”

The hold against his arms tightens before letting go, almost letting him fall and he quickly tries to sit upright. He looks up in time to see Toshio stand next to Brother Juro. He can barely hear how heavy his breathing is, mind still foggy and unclear.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, voice dry and raspy, “you.”

Silence befalls them and Brother Juro laughs, evil and empty that it makes Kiyoomi flinch. He sees them both walk over him and he quickly backs away, nearing the sacks of fertilizer.

“Sakusa,” Brother Juro asks. “Why are you still running away?”

Kiyoomi blinks and looks up at him with glared eyes. “Fuck you.” He spits on his shoes and instantly heaves at the force of a foot kicking on his stomach. He coughs out blood and tries to control it.

“Fuck you,” he sees his blood drip down the floor. “I’m gonna fucking escape from here and to my family.”

He glares up at him, blood dripping down his mouth. “Yeah, I fucking heard you, then. You’re a fucking liar. You lied to me. I’m gonna see my family and you’re gonna get arrested, you demon.”

Brother Juro and Toshio look at each other before laughing loudly and Kiyoomi looks at them in confusion.

“Your family?” Brother Juro laughs and even pushes Toshio as they continuously laugh. Kiyoomi feels dread settle onto his bones.

“His family,” Toshio snorts, shaking his head.

“What’s so funny?” Kiyoomi demands, hands shaking.

“It’s simple, Sakusa,” Brother Juro explains, checking at his watch. “Sometimes, a job is a job, however hard it may seem.”

“What?” Kiyoomi wants to vomit.

“Family of four, suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning. Cause of death? Business. Unhappy family. Failed marriage. The options are _endless_!”

“What,” Kiyoomi breathes out, gritting his nails against the dirt-ridden floor. “What?”

“And, and,” he continues, looking at Toshio with a laugh. “Son left to school’s trustworthy principal. It’s the perfect excuse to keep you in here.”

Brother Juro bends and looks at him, the dim shed light flickering above them, and whispers. “I told you, didn’t I? You’re mine. I raised you to eat you.” A hand comes up to caress his cheekbones and he takes in a shaky breath. “You’ll satisfy me for at least a year. Finally useful, Sakusa.”

“Fuck you.” Kiyoomi spits at him, blood and spit splattering all over Brother Juro’s left cheek and he flinches, closing his eyes as he stills.

Kiyoomi watches as Brother Juro clears his throat and makes little effort in wiping it away. He looks at Kiyoomi before kicking him in the stomach again and the other kneels over, coughing as the pain spreads through him.

“You may enjoy your time with him, Toshio,” he can hear Brother Juro. “If anyone looks for him, tell them he’s skipping mass.”

Fuck.

Kiyoomi leans against the sack and tries to feel the axe by the sacks behind him. His hand grabs hold of dirt and rust and he tightens his grip on it, backing up even closer to the sacks.

Brother Juro turns to him just when he’s by the door of the shed. “You know, Sakusa,” he starts, looking like what he’s always looked; black cassock, black-rimmed glasses, except now, stained with bits of blood, and graceful stiff to his back. “I really did see you as my son.”

Kiyoomi’s grip on the axe tightens and he tries to calm his heavy breathing. “I hope you fucking die.”

Brother Juro snorts, shaking his head. “Worthless sentence, Sakusa. I’m sad it ended like this.”

Kiyoomi ignores Toshio and listens to Brother Juro’s disappearing footsteps and his hand tightens against the axe when Toshio walks closer to him.

“He really did like you, you know.”

“What?”

“Brother Juro,” Toshio kneels in front of him and grabs at his face harshly. His eyes are dark and swimming with envy and anger. “I never saw what he saw in you. All I saw was a spoiled brat who was gonna die the way he deserves.”

Kiyoomi pulls away from his touch, wanting to swing the axe at him. “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m gonna do whatever I want with you,” Toshio seethes out and pulls away, glaring at him. Kiyoomi lets out a whimper, freezing in fear and shock as Toshio looks at him with such rage and disgust. “Brother Juro gave me all permission to whatever the fuck I want with you. And I’ve been waiting for years.”

When Toshio leans even closer to him, his breath hitting against his lips, Kiyoomi lets out a shaky exhale and uses all his energy to grab at the axe and to swing harshly against Toshio. His breathing echoes as Toshio flies towards the side, blood splattering everywhere and Kiyoomi flinches. He looks at the axe and marvels at its blood-filled tip.

Toshio looks at him, the right side of his face gashed and ripped open, dripping with blood. “You bitch,” he mumbles, a hand coming up to his cheek. His right eye reddens with blood as his blood fully stains his collar. “I’m gonna fucking kill you —”

Kiyoomi stands up and brings down the axe on top of Toshio’s head. His mind is blank and his movements steady as he continuously brings down the axe to his head, Toshio losing consciousness and lying lifelessly on the ground yet Kiyoomi still pushes down the axe against his chest. He can still hear Brother Juro’s words and as he swings the axe down to his face and body until his face is barely recognizable and his chest is bloody and open, he thinks of his family and his swing only goes faster and harder.

_For Wakatoshi-kun. For my family. For the other students. For me. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you._

His heavy breathing echoes around the small shed and he lets out a whimper. Kiyoomi looks down at his hands, shaking yet still holding the axe tightly. They’re full of blood, as well as his then-pristine, white clothes and blood drips from his chin and onto his shoes.

Kiyoomi can’t control his breathing. “Oh my god,” he sobs out, tears streaming down his face. He didn’t want to kill him—he just wanted to leave him unconscious but he didn’t—

He steps back in fear, almost slipping as he steps on a pool of blood and he turns around when he hears footsteps nearing the shed. Leaves crinkle and scream under the light footsteps.

 _Please don’t be Brother Juro_. _Please don’t be Brother Juro. Please don’t be—_

Kiyoomi lets out a sharp gasp when the door opens and Wakatoshi comes into view and he shakes his head once he remembers what he’s done. “Wakatoshi —”

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi says and steps inside and Kiyoomi points the axe at him, shaking his head as he cries. Blood drips down the tip of the axe and it almost slips away from Kiyoomi’s hands due to the blood. The cross from his rosary twinkles underneath the dim light, despite the abundance of blood covering it.

“No,” he cries, pointing the bloody axe at him. “Don’t. I—I killed To-Toshio-san, don’t come —”

In a flash, Wakatoshi is crossing the shed to get to him and Kiyoomi gasps in surprise when he feels warmth radiate off of him and for hands to cup his face. His eyes close instantly and he lets out a sob. “Don’t, no, don’t touch me—his blood might —”

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi breathes out, hands tight and warm around his face as the other cries, sobs pouring out his mouth as the axe slips out his hands. It rattles to the ground with an echoing sound. “You’re safe, you’re safe, I have you, oh, god. Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi.”

“Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi chokes out, his eyesight blurry and red as his hands try to find themselves around Wakatoshi. Their lips brush against each other and the other doesn’t hesitate in kissing him wetly, breathlessly.

“I got you,” Wakatoshi breathes out, wiping away at the tears sliding down his face. Blood stains his hands. “Kiyoomi, Kiyoomi, I got you.”

“Wakatoshi, Wakatoshi, Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi whispers out, choking out and tired as his hands shake and wrap themselves around Wakatoshi’s wrist. “He’s—He was gonna—I was so scared —”

Wakatoshi shushes him with a kiss and whispers against his lips, “I’m here, I’m here,” he whispers, a hand leaving his face to intertwine with his and blood squeals from in-between them and it’s so slippery and so cold and so dark and so—

“Wakatoshi,” Kiyoomi whimpers out, pushing their lips together again. He can taste the blood inside his mouth and Wakatoshi’s tongue meets his halfway and he whimpers, letting Wakatoshi hold him and kiss him, exploring him even if his mouth and hands get stained. Wakatoshi’s tongue licks the roof of his mouth and Kiyoomi lets out a soft sound, pulling him closer and closer.

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi pulls away and grins when Kiyoomi follows his lips, eyes still closed. He looks so pretty, all drenched in blood. Wakatoshi swipes at his bottom lip and kisses him again, breathing out a soft sigh at the taste of blood and—Kiyoomi.

“Let’s go,” he whispers, hands wrapping around the other’s cheeks. Blood drips down the sides of his mouth and onto his neck. Wakatoshi kisses him again, licking the blood off his lips. “To the lake, Kiyoomi. Let’s go.”

“Are you sure?” _Right now?_

“I’m sure,” Wakatoshi whispers, intertwining their hands. “I’m always sure with you.”

“Okay,” Kiyoomi sniffles and looks at his hands again. “Your uniform…”

Wakatoshi smiles at him and pulls him closer. There’s blood all over his mouth and chin and Kiyoomi moves to wipe it off, yet only adding more blood.

“I’m sorry,” Kiyoomi whispers and Wakatoshi grabs his hands again.

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I got you.”

  
  


“Kiyoomi.”

“Yes, Wakatoshi-kun?”

“When the time comes, if we were to have no choice left, I’d prefer to drown on the lake.”

“Wakatoshi-kun, what?”

“You know what I mean, Kiyoomi.”

“No, I can’t—that’s how you died— ”

“I don’t care.”

“But I care, Wakatoshi-kun. I don’t want you —”

“I want to do it with you, Kiyoomi. It’s different with you.”

  
  
  


With the moonlight guiding them, Wakatoshi stands on the edge of the lake while Kiyoomi decides to sit by it, hands gingerly touching the water, watching as the blood leaves yet stains. It’s only then that grief and death settle onto him like a heavy blanket, tears gathering in his eyes as his hand clenches into a fist, punching at the water. He looks at the rosary, stained with blood and dirt, and punches at the water again, the cross bumping against his wrist insistently.

“Fuck,” he whispers, a sob leaving his mouth and Wakatoshi is sitting next to him, far yet close. He wants him to touch him and to leave him alone. “Wakatoshi.”

“Kiyoomi.” Wakatoshi’s hand settles by the ground in-between them and Kiyoomi stares at it. The lake touches it softly and he wonders what it’s like to be water, endless and free and touching Wakatoshi. Slowly, he settles his own hand on top of Wakatoshi’s and he sobs, soft and gentle until it hammers against his chest and there are blood and tears in his mouth and he wants to drown himself, wants to swing the axe at himself, wants to push Wakatoshi away, wants to drown.

He punches at the water and wipes his hand at his face, wants to mush his face against the ground and the lake and the blood and there are hands around his shoulders and he wants Wakatoshi to hug him and to push him away.

He wants to go back and swing the axe at Brother Juro.

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi whispers, holding him close. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Kiyoomi turns to him suddenly and holds his face close to his. “Don’t say sorry, it wasn’t your fault, Wakatoshi-kun. Wakatoshi-kun. Wakatoshi-kun, please don’t say sorry.”

Wakatoshi closes his eyes and leans his forehead against his. “Still, I feel sorry.”

Kiyoomi shushes him quickly and caresses his cheeks with his thumb, watches as the blood stains, and moves and kisses him softly, tasting blood and tears. “Don’t say sorry, please, Wakatoshi-kun.”

They stay like that, foreheads pressed against each other until Kiyoomi pulls away and looks at the lake again, wanting to leave and stay. He looks up at the night sky and knows there’s nothing left for him here except for Wakatoshi.

Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi. Ushijima Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi Ushijima. Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi. Wakatoshi-kun. His Wakatoshi-kun.

Kiyoomi turns to him and isn’t surprised to see olive eyes already looking at him. “Do you know William James?”

“No,” Wakatoshi whispers, vulnerable and quiet underneath the moonlight. “Who is he?”

“He’s an American philosopher, I think,” Kiyoomi remembers him clearly. His hand finds the beads of his rosary and plays with it. “He had this theory about multiverses.”

“What’s a multiverse?”

“It’s like a bunch of other universes where we exist but with different situations, consequences, opportunities.”

“Oh.” Wakatoshi looks too seen and vulnerable.

“Are you getting what I’m saying, Wakatoshi-kun?” Kiyoomi whispers, voice cracking as he turns back to the moonlight, lips trembling. He wants to rip apart the rosary on his wrist.

“Kiyoomi…”

The trees scream again and the wind picks up its harsh pace and Kiyoomi squints against its painful entrance. The trees dance cheerfully around them, for them.

“I’m saying,” Kiyoomi cuts him off and his hands find him unconsciously. Maybe they’re meant to find each other, even if it’s through the smallest things. “Maybe in another universe, in a parallel universe, in a universe where you exist and I exist and we’re together.”

“Kiyoomi —”

“And,” Kiyoomi cuts him off again with a laugh, looking at him yet not even seeing him completely, a blur of red and tears. The forest laughs alongside him and Wakatoshi looks like he belongs against the trees and the moonlit sky. “We didn’t have to kill one another, there isn’t any blood, Wakatoshi-kun. It’s just you and I.”

Wakatoshi stays quiet and there is blood by his cheeks and by his mouth where Kiyoomi kisses him and his uniform is splattered with it and Kiyoomi wants to stay here. The trees are quiet and for once, the moonlight gently simmers through them.

“Wakatoshi-kun…” he whispers, a sound between a sob and a plea, “why is it so hard to be with you?”

“Kiyoomi,” Wakatoshi whispers and tightens his hold on his hand. “There will be a universe for us.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” Wakatoshi looks at him and his lips are red and his eyelashes are clumped together. He still looks so beautiful. “It’s you and I. I found you now and I’ll continue finding you.”

“I want to find you,” Kiyoomi whispers and he looks at the lake. He looks at his rosary and takes it off, leaving it by the ground. “Wakatoshi-kun.”

“I’ll look for you, whatever it takes.”

  
  


As the trees scream and dance around each other, the moon shines down on two boys holding hands as they walk deeper into the lake, leaving blood and their love in their wake.

As their bodies join the others, it’s only a matter of time before they all get discovered by the townspeople.

I have told you so many times, I love you. I love you. I love you.

I love you. Love you. You, whom I love.

If I were to take out your heart and take it with me,

I would jump universes and planets to be alone with you.

  
  
  


“Oh my god,” Wakatoshi says and Kiyoomi laughs. He pushes his head away from Wakatoshi’s shoulder and looks at him with a smile.

“And that’s the history of Itachiyama,” he says in a raspy voice. He’s been talking for hours! “The end.”

“Are you serious?” Wakatoshi’s eyes are serious and alarmed and his shoulders are tense. Kiyoomi laughs and lets go of their intertwined hands to massage his shoulders.

“Calm down, Wakatoshi-kun!” he laughs and moves closer to him, their thighs touching. Outside the large glass window, the sky is a bright blue and the city is awake and hustling. “It’s just a story! It isn’t actually real.”

“Are you _sure_?” Wakatoshi’s eyes are wide and Kiyoomi laughs again, shaking his head. He cups Wakatoshi’s face and pouts at him.

“Does it sound real?”

“Yes!” Wakatoshi looks out of breath. “Where did that even come from? What was the _plan_? Did they even get their revenge? Were you safe in Itachiyama?”

“Wakatoshi-kun, I’m fine!” Kiyoomi laughs and hugs Wakatoshi close to him and the other quickly pulls him closer, arms wrapped around his waist. “It’s just a silly story! I doubt it’s real.”

“I doubt it’s real,” Wakatoshi mocks from his neck and Kiyoomi lets out a chuckle at the slight tickle his warm breath gives. “It’s our day off and you have me worrying if there’s an immortal serial murderer in your alma mater!”

“There isn’t!” Kiyoomi coos and cups Wakatoshi’s face and gives him a soft kiss on his nose. “Wakatoshi-kun, you’re making me feel bad! You asked for a story.”

“I was expecting a funny one, not a horror one.”

“It’s the only one I have memorized,” Kiyoomi hugs Wakatoshi again and runs his fingers through his hair. “Don’t worry, Wakatoshi-kun. I’ll make sure a serial killer won’t come in between us.”

“There better not be,” Wakatoshi pulls him close and Kiyoomi hums. “I think the only thing that should be between us is a net.”


End file.
